


Never Give All the Heart

by castielrisingabove



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fae Castiel, Hunter Dean Winchester, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Slow Burn, more tags added as fic progresses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2019-03-29
Packaged: 2019-08-04 10:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 82,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16345031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castielrisingabove/pseuds/castielrisingabove
Summary: Dean knows that fae are dangerous, but he's never crossed paths with one until he stumbled into the realm of the mysterious Castiel. Meanwhile, Castiel has spent centuries having no interest in humans...until Dean appears in his life, strange and demanding and intriguing. Of course, both are smart men. They can't really be falling for each other, right?





	1. Names

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends! Having been inspired by [wanderingcas](https://wanderingcas.tumblr.com/) and supported by my ever amazing beta [soluscheese](http://soluscheese.tumblr.com/) I'm gonna try to make a fic that (hopefully) updates every week. Keep in mind that I am also a VERY busy grad student, so I'm gonna be doing my best.

_ “Come away, o human child! / To the waters and the wild / With a faery, hand in hand, / For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.” -- W.B. Yeats _

 

There was no reason Dean should be this lost. He had a map, a compass,  _ and _ his cellphone’s GPS...but for some awful, godforsaken reason, nothing worked. The needle on the compass spun wildly. The cell phone signal cut out and the map was either outdated or just plain  _ wrong _ because there was no way he’d managed to miss so many landmarks. Hell, there was supposed to be an old church in the woods, how on earth had Dean missed  _ that? _

Honestly, he had no idea how he’d managed to wander so far into the forest to begin with. Dean had been tracking down a nest of vampires with his father, John, and younger brother, Sam. Dean was eager to take charge in the hunt--so often it felt as though his father didn’t trust him and Sam, despite his loathing of hunting, regularly outperformed him. By now, Dean was ready for even a small victory. Anything to make John proud of  _ him _ for a change. 

At the thought, Dean kicked a rock into the stream he’d been following, taking vindictive pleasure in the splash that followed. As the water splattered his boot, Dean was struck with a strange thought. He tugged the map, once again, from his back pocket and examined it carefully. To his surprise, there was no indication of any stream on the map. In fact, Dean wasn’t entirely sure why he’d chosen to follow it in the first place, or for how long he’d been wandering along the edge of the water, stumbling deeper and deeper into the old forest. 

The scenery was, he admitted, gorgeous. A few trees still stubbornly clung to their leaves, but most hung bare, the sunlight streaming through the gnarled branches. The sounds of the road had faded ages ago, but now, even the birds were quiet, leaving only the babble of the creek and a soft humming in the air. By now, it seemed, he’d either bypassed the vampires, or their hideout was somewhere else entirely. Either way, there was no pressing danger to the scene before him, and Dean enjoyed the peace and quiet. Of all the places to be lost, this wasn’t half bad.

A gust of wind pulled Dean back into reality, however, as shivers ran down his traitorous bare arms. The fall day had been warm enough in the afternoon, but the sun seemed to be setting. If he couldn’t find his way out before nightfall, it was going to be a rather unpleasant night. Dean considered calling out, perhaps there was a better equipped hiker somewhere nearby, but didn’t dare shatter the tranquil silence that enveloped him.

He hit a bend in the stream and as Dean followed it around a rather large boulder, he yelped in surprise. Illuminated by the setting sun, a man crouched at the stream. He wore a long robe, a brown that could have almost been orange at the right angle. The man had a crown of interlaced branches in his thick dark hair and Dean caught his breath when the man faced him. Piercing blue eyes met Dean’s gaze and Dean found he couldn’t look away. The man seemed to be tugging at Dean’s very soul, probing curiously and Dean allowed it, trying to parse out who the man was. The word was on the tip of his tongue.

_ Fae _ .

Dean shut his eyes, clamping his hands over his mouth. It was fae, Dean was told, that stole his mother from their family. John and Mary were hunters, they often challenged supernatural beings who caused trouble in human communities...but John forbade any of them from seeking out fae. Dean had seen the fear in his father’s eyes when he spoke of the creatures who stole away their mother. And his father wasn’t afraid of  _ anything _ . 

“What brings you here?” the fae asked, his voice low and rumbling. 

Eyes still closed, Dean simply shook his head. His ears pricked at the sound of motion, so soft it could have been missed by someone whose training hadn’t hinged on being observant. Dean cursed silently. Without his sight, he was at a severe disadvantage...but he wasn’t sure if the being wielded any sort of magic. Then again, if Dean couldn’t move, would being immune to any potential magic even help?

A huff of breath against his cheek left Dean opening his eyes instinctively. He yelped again, thankfully in his hands this time, as he stared at the fae, who stood mere inches from Dean’s face. 

“What is your name, boy?” the man growled, though there was no malice in his voice. Dean shivered at the sound, instinctively lowering his hands from his mouth. His name bloomed on the tip of his tongue, nudged along by the fae’s enchantment. A name was such a small thing... At that thought, horror surged in his chest. 

“ _ No! _ ” Dean cried instead. Giving a name to a fae was like handing an enemy a loaded gun. You might not be dead, but you’d be as good as gone if a fae took hold of your very soul. 

The fae stepped back, tilting his head quizzically. His blue eyes sparkled with curiosity and Dean felt oddly pleased he’d elicited the reaction. No doubt this fae was used to having his way easily; Dean would not go down without a fight. 

“You know what I am,” the fae said simply. Why was he so calm? What game was he playing at? Maybe, Dean hoped, the fae would underestimate him.

“Let me go,” Dean spat. 

The fae squinted. “I have not taken you. It was  _ you _ who wandered into my realm.”

“Your realm is West Virginia?”

“What is this...western virgin you speak of?” the fae looked absolutely puzzled now, and Dean had to bite back a laugh. For a horrifying being, the fae was oddly endearing in his mannerisms. Dean tried to clear his mind of such thoughts. This  _ creature _ was the enemy, not a cute guy at the bar. (Why was it the humanoid monsters who were hardest to face?)

“West Virginia,” Dean repeated grumpily, “The state? In the United States? On the continent of North America?”

The fae shook his head. “I do not bother with the names humans have given the earth. My realm is simply a forest stream.”

He extended his hand, as though pointing something out in the distance, and a wave of warm humid air hit Dean. He blinked, and the sight of greenery made him almost double over. Gone were the empty maples, in their place were trees Dean had never seen before, large leaves drooping with moisture. A foreign bird cry startled Dean, sending him tripping over a thick root. “Where am I?”

“My realm,” the fae replied calmly, “A forest stream.”

“This is an illusion,” Dean muttered, running his hands through the soft wet peat, hoping to feel the crunch of dead leaves pull him from the strange dream. Mud caught in his fingernails and a bug, disrupted from its daily living by Dean’s frantic scrabbling, skittered across his hand.

“It is a forest stream,” the fae repeated, and in an instant, Dean felt his hands submerged in snow. He squinted against the glare, gazing up at green pines covered in a layer of fresh snow. A cold breeze nearly sucked the air from his lungs. In trying to pull his hands from the snowbank, Dean sent himself tumbling backwards, snow soaking his legs and exposed back.

“Where  _ are we? _ ” Dean bellowed breathlessly, unsure what was more terrifying: an illusion so convincing or the idea they might really not be in West Virginia anymore.

“A forest stream,” the fae said again, extending his hand and the snow vanished, the pines elongating to a width and thickness Dean had only seen in photographs: redwoods. The unfamiliarity of it all was imposing.

“Stop it,” Dean barked.

“You asked,” the fae responded, and if Dean was less horrified, he’d have said the response was almost peevish. “I was showing you the breadth of my realm.”

“Well, take me back to  _ mine _ ,” Dean demanded, pushing back up to his feet. He brushed dirt off his hands, still red from their time in the snow. His jeans were filthy, soaked clean through from the snow and then dropped back into the dust. “I didn’t intend to enter your realm.”

“And I did not intend to entertain guests,” the fae snapped, waving his hand. They returned to the familiar maples, though Dean wondered how far the fae’s  _ liminal realm _ truly extended. “Teaching you to navigate out of my liminal space would be more work than I anticipated doing today.”

Dean’s blood ran cold. Could he find his way out of a supernatural realm on his own? Or was that the fae’s plan….a carefully crafted trap to force travellers to give up something dear to them? He wished John had done more to prepare him to face a fae. Dean knew the weaknesses of vampires, djinn, ghosts...but his mind ran blank at the prospect of the fae. 

“What do you want?” Dean asked, though he hid his own name deep within his heart. His freedom was something he could not dare to lose.

A small smile caught the fae’s lips and his blue eyes lit up. “You are a very clever human, aren’t you?”

“You’re not getting my name.”

The fae shrugged. “I want to say I do not want your name….usually I do not care about the names of humans.”

Dean barked a laugh. “Do all fae say that?”

“No,” the fae ran a hand through his thick hair, another stupidly human gesture, “But I have no desire for human company.”

“So why do you want mine?”

“Hard to say,” the fae peered at Dean, “Though you may rest assured I am not pleased at the sentiment.”

Whatever Dean was expecting of fae, mild irritation at the idea of wanting to learn Dean’s name hadn’t factored in to his imagination. In fact, the thought left Dean feeling slightly annoyed. Why shouldn’t the fae want his name? It was a perfectly decent name. Was it because the fae already didn’t like him? Dean scowled. The  _ last _ thing to care about was a dangerous creature’s opinion of him. 

“Any chance you’ll just let me out for free, then?” Dean opted for his trademark swagger, the same attitude he used on police and bullies at bars. “Since my name is so unpleasant, and all.”

The fae stepped closer, blue eyes locked on Dean’s. His expression was inscrutable. Dean’s breath hitched, he didn’t like the sway this creature seemed to hold. “I imagine your name would be quite sweet on my tongue,” the fae murmured, and Dean felt blood rush to his cheeks. “Though I have no need for a human name and you have no interest in giving yours away anyway. Instead, I will take a memory.”

“A memory?”

“A childhood memory,” the fae amended.

Dean hesitated. On the one hand, he didn’t like the idea of giving away any part of himself. But he did have to find a way out...and really, a memory from his childhood would be the least detrimental. Sure, it would be sad if the fae took one of his sunshine moments, one of those few happy times with Sam, or...or  _ Mom _ , but in general, those were few and far between. Fear, that seemed to be the overarching theme of his childhood memories. In fact…

“Can I choose which memory I give you?” Dean blurted out.

The fae looked surprised and once again, he tilted his head to the side, examining Dean. “You do not need to worry,” the fae explained, “I prefer memories from infants. The colors…” the fae cracked another rare smile, “All I see from them are colors.”

“No, I’ve got another one.”

“I do not understand--”

“--Please,” Dean interjected. The more he considered his idea, the more he ached to have it become a reality. Although he knew what a foolish idea it might be, another part of him saw a different scenario: a kill two birds with one stone sort of scenario. And though Dean knew he should be afraid of the fae who stood before him, whether by enchantment or some other force, Dean...well, it was hard to tell if this fae was terrible or not. And even if he was, maybe some good could still come of losing a memory.

The fae hesitated, then nodded. He stepped forwards, reaching out a hand to grip Dean’s shoulder. It wasn’t tight, just steady and warm. If Dean closed his eyes, he knew he would have mistaken the touch for that of a friend’s. “If you want to give me a memory, you must focus on it,” the fae explained, “Bring it to life in your mind, and my power will help you solidify it into an object.”

Dean frowned. He hadn’t expected to get personally pulled into the mix. While he doubted fae magic was anything like the magic witches used (disgusting!) that didn’t change the fact it was still  _ magic _ . “Your magic shit isn’t gonna leave me obsessed or, I dunno, brain dead or something, is it?”

“If you are strong of heart, you should emerge unscathed,” the fae replied with a shrug, “If you fear you cannot handle such responsibility, you need only allow me to extract a memory at random.”

“No,” Dean shook his head, “I’d rather have power over what stays and goes.” Regardless of the risks, he preferred to have autonomy. Especially when so few memories with his mother were left.

“Then focus.”

Hesitantly, Dean closed his eyes, steeling himself for the memory he wanted to be rid of. Some images were still sharp in his mind, while others had faded out of focus, blurs in the background. The pain, though, that was real, haunting the scene like a lonely ghost. Dean faltered. 

“Condense the memory,” the fae’s deep voice was oddly soothing. Dean tried to comply, imagining the scene shrinking smaller and smaller, the pain slowly trapped behind a hard wall. A weight sunk into his hand. Dean opened his eyes, uncurling his fingers to reveal a smooth grey stone with a thin white streak running across the lower edge. The fae released Dean’s shoulder, plucking the stone from Dean’s hand and inspecting it.

“This will be proper payment,” the fae said abruptly, pocketing the stone in a fold in his robe. Without warning, he pressed two fingertips to Dean’s forehead. There was a flash; in Dean’s mind he could see the forest trail unravelling itself before him, then he was staring back at the fae. “Your body will know how to navigate between my realm and yours.”

“So I can...go?” Dean asked, slightly dazed. Already, he could not recall what he had put in the stone that he had handed away to the fae. Fear, laced with excitement, ran through his bones as he tried to decide whether or not the gesture was horrifying or freeing. Both, maybe. Or neither. Facing a fae was nothing like he could have possibly imagined. 

“You have always been free to leave.”

Dean turned away quickly, as though staring into the eyes of the fae for even a moment longer would hold him in the realm forever. He made it only a few steps before turning back. Something pulled him towards the fae, stoking his curiosity and igniting his courage. “What is  _ your _ name?” Dean asked in a moment of boldness, adding a little more hesitantly, “In case we cross paths again.”

He wasn’t sure why a name was so important. Dean knew he should consider himself lucky and run while he still had the chance. But the idea of leaving this strange memory, with a person who was caught somewhere between friend and foe, without a proper name, seemed wrong. Or maybe it was simply an urge to fill the void left behind from whatever memory he had removed.

The fae’s eyebrows rose, but he moved closer to Dean. “I have never shared such information with a human.”

“And you haven’t wanted to learn a human’s name, either,” Dean continued, oddly confident, “So that makes me special.”

“Do you know the weight of a name, boy?” the fae drifted closer still. “Your curiosity may prove to be your undoing.”

By now, the fae’s nose brushed against Dean’s. The guy definitely had some misconceptions about personal space...and yet in the moment, it seemed as natural as if he’d stood several feet away. The air was thick with enchantment, but for better or worse, Dean could not sense any ill-will. Surprise and curiosity, those were emotions they shared. 

“Nothing has unravelled me yet,” Dean whispered.

The fae considered, then leaned in close. His lips brushed Dean’s ear as he whispered his name lowly. “Castiel.”

With that, the fae vanished, leaving Dean alone in a darkening forest. The sun was almost set now, but the idea of navigating the forest in darkness didn’t worry him. In fact, Dean hardly noticed when he began to walk, his feet moving out of habit, as though he’d wandered around this forest countless times before. All the while, the name  _ Castiel _ floating around him like fog, leaving Dean to wonder if he was truly free of the fae realm at all.


	2. Briar

After Castiel’s blessing (Dean didn’t have a better term to use), leaving the woods was easy. Logistically, anyway. Finding his way out was as simple as breathing, but actually stepping foot out of the forest and facing his family? That was a lot more complicated. After all, he was supposed to do a quick sweep of the area in search of vamps. It was only supposed to last an hour or two, not well into the evening...and Dean had been gone for half the day, judging by the dark sky.

By now, his phone was dead. Not that it mattered, John wouldn’t exactly be thrilled to pick Dean up several hours late and lacking in intel. For a brief moment, Dean considered returning to the forest stream. Castiel’s gaze, despite being confusing and bordering on creepy, would be much preferred to John’s trademark scowl. And maybe Castiel would be willing to use his fae powers (of which Dean knew nothing about) to eradicate the vamp nest...it might cost him, but what were a few infant memories to Dean anyway?

_ No _ . This was how the fae ensnared their victims. All it took was a pinch of curiosity, a dash of enchantment and sooner or later, the humans would return to the fae realm forever. Dean kicked a rock as he pointedly made his way out of the woods. Castiel might have tried to enchant Dean by giving him his name, but that didn’t give the fae any power over Dean. 

_ But he didn’t want to give me his name _ . The traitorous thought flitted through Dean’s mind and his scowl deepened. The last thing he needed was a complicated encounter with a fae. Hunting might have been a difficult profession, but it offered a comfortable simplicity to the world. Monsters were evil. It wasn’t a fantastic dichotomy, obviously not all humans were good, but at the very least, Dean could know with certainty if a thing wasn’t human, it was evil. 

At least, that’s what John taught them.

A sharp breeze snatched Dean’s focus, shivers running down his arms as he made his way to their motel. Without a jacket or any reasonable weaponry, Dean felt woefully vulnerable. He jumped whenever a lone car drove down the empty road, certain that at any moment, he was going to be attacked by vamps. A hunting knife would barely do anything to a single vampire, much less an entire nest.

That didn’t stop Dean from whipping the blade out when a horn blared. He blinked in the glare of the headlights to make out the familiar form of the Impala. The rescue should have been a relief, but all Dean could feel was his heart sink into the soles of his feet. He’d hoped to sneak into the motel room, unnoticed.

“Get in the car!” John barked.

For a moment, Dean stood frozen, but his father’s voice whipped him into action, and Dean scrambled into the back seat. Sammy sat up front, eyes shrouded by his shaggy bangs. Although Sam was 6’4’’ and nearing his 21st birthday, he still managed to look like a teenager, brimming with angst and anger. Not for the first time, Dean wondered what his brother would be like if he’d gone to Stanford instead of hunting with their dad. Sam said he didn’t blame Dean for the incident, but--

“What the  _ hell _ were you doing out that late?” John snapped as he shifted the car back into gear. 

Thoughts of Castiel rose swiftly in Dean’s mind. He opened his mouth to answer, but the words wouldn’t come. He didn’t want to lie, didn’t want to tell the truth, just wanted to return to the forest stream, to Castiel-- _ shit _ . Was this a side-effect of relinquishing a memory? What sort of enchantment had that fae cast?

“Are you high?”

Dean tried to focus on John’s words, scrambling to ground himself in  _ here _ and  _ now _ . Castiel’s blue eyes meant nothing in the face of John’s scrutiny.

“He’s not high, Dad,” Sam retorted. Sam had been arguing with John since he was a teenager, and it was always hard to tell if Sam spoke up to protect his brother, or simply to irritate their dad. Maybe both. Either way, it was up to Dean to mediate. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to simultaneously forget about the fae and brace himself for the fight that was surely on the horizon.

“Drunk?”

“That’s  _ you _ ,” Sam shot back, voice laced with venom. “Unless you forgot the last time you blacked out on the motel floor?”

“How many times do I have to tell you to show me respect?” John rounded on Sam, “I’m your father.”

Dean closed his eyes, trying to block out the fight, but was faced with the memory of Castiel gazing at him with curiosity. He opened his eyes in a flash. 

“And Dean’s your son!” Sam snapped, “You didn’t even ask if he was okay before giving him the second degree!”

“He walked into the car, didn’t he? I’d say that answers the question pretty well.”

“Guys,” Dean interrupted wearily, “Stop.”

Sam rounded in his seat to look at Dean. Although John kept his eyes on the road, he also quieted. A small victory, at least. Dean caught Sam’s eyes and hated the worry he saw reflected in them. Being alone with John was Sam’s worst nightmare...leaving Sam alone with John was Dean’s. Unfortunately, he’d have to save his apology for after the hunt.

“I’m fine, Sammy,” Dean added quietly, “And I...I’m sorry, Dad.” He paused, weighing his options a final time before adding, “I might have helped myself to a couple bottles while I was out.”

Sam glared. His brother had always had a knack of seeing through Dean’s lies. John, however, seemed vindicated, shoulders relaxing as he continued to drive.

“You sober enough to take on the vamps?”

“Yes, sir.” Dean hung his head. Even if he could formulate his experience with Castiel into words (a feat that appeared to be nearly impossible) it was still in his best interests to not disclose it. There was too much bad blood on John’s end and too much for Dean to mull over in the meantime. 

“Lucky for us, Sam managed to do what you couldn’t,” John added sharply, “He tracked down the nest.”

The words landed like a blow. It wasn’t the first time John had weaponized Sam’s success against him, and wouldn’t be the last. That didn’t stop it from hurting. No matter how hard Dean tried, no matter what a good little soldier he was, Sam would always be one step ahead. For as much as Sam hated hunting, he couldn’t deny that he was naturally skilled. Sam was faster, more agile, smarter...Sam’s skills were the only reason John tolerated his rebellious attitude. If  _ Dean _ tried to pull the shit Sam did, well. He couldn’t even get lost in the woods without a lecture.

“Four vamps,” Sam added nervously, shooting another apologetic glance in Dean’s direction. “In an abandoned cabin on the outskirts of the forest.” He paused, then hastily added, “But I only found it because I got lucky! It coulda been you who ended up with that section of forest.”

Which meant it could have been  _ Sam _ who met Castiel. Or...maybe not. Sam’s instincts seemed far better than Dean’s, it was plenty likely he could have avoided the whole ordeal all together. Dean knew he should have felt jealous at the thought, but strangely, he didn’t mind that he’d stumbled into the fae realm. If nothing else, it was certainly a change of pace and an oddly compelling enigma. Castiel was one tangled mystery Dean wouldn’t mind unspooling. 

“...and Sam takes the back door. Dean, I need you with me,” John’s voice drifted into Dean’s consciousness and Dean realized with horror that he had, once again, gotten caught up thinking about the fae. Maybe Castiel had been right. The fae’s name clung to Dean like a bur, catching at his interwoven thoughts and keeping hold no matter how Dean tried to shake it.

He couldn’t afford to keep losing focus, though. Especially not during a hunt.

The car slowed and John parked on the side of the road. No point driving too close to their hideout; the Winchesters relied on the element of surprise in their hunts. As they exited the car, Sam handed Dean his leather jacket. Dean took it with a small smile, shrugging on the slightly too large jacket with a soft sigh. John popped the trunk open, handing weapons first to Sam, then to Dean. While Dean knew the handgun he tucked into his jacket wouldn’t be much use against a vamp, he still liked the feeling of protection it gave him. The real weapon was a machete, long and sharp, which could be used to sever the vampire’s head from its body.

Once prepared, the Winchesters navigated the forest in the dark, relying on the light of the moon to navigate. Dean found, to his surprise, he didn’t need it. While John, and even Sam, stumbled, Dean didn’t falter. All the while, he tried to replay John’s plans in his mind.  _ Sam goes to the back. I go to the front. Dad will break in, then I watch the front opening until--Castiel. _

Dean nearly ran into a tree at the thought of the fae, cursing quietly. With renewed conviction, he tried to replay the plan, and only the plan, in his mind. He was certainly not going to think about the fact he could hear a stream somewhere in the distance, or the way the branches rustled in the cold night breeze. There were vamps to kill. People to save. A job to be done.

As the trees started to thin, Dean spotted the cabin. Sam was right, it certainly looked abandoned. The windows were boarded up, the wood was splintering and graffitti was scattered across the facade. It looked like the sort of place that teenagers would sneak out to for a night of rebellion...well, teenagers with no decent sense of danger, anyway. It was probably Dean’s upbringing, but he never understood why anyone would want to tempt fate when they could just as easily sneak out to a park to get drunk on their parents’ cheap wine.

John gestured to Sam who nodded, brandishing his machete as he made his way to the back of the small house. Dean followed John to the front, bracing himself as his father kicked the door down. Over John’s shoulder, Dean could see four figures sitting on furniture that looked half rotted. One looked up, his face streaked with blood. He hissed, revealing fangs. For a moment, everyone stayed frozen, and then the nest exploded in a flurry of movement. 

“Mind the door, Dean!” John called as he entered the chaos within.

Dean frowned, but obeyed. John might be harsh, but he knew what he was doing...right? As the scuffle intensified, Dean gripped the handle of his machete tighter. A body slammed into him and Dean stumbled slightly. He turned to face the form, a vampire who looked to be about Dean’s age. The vamp was paler, with dark hair pulled into a ponytail and a wiry build. The vampire, taking advantage of Dean’s momentary lapse, took off into the woods. Dean hesitated for a moment, remembering John’s order, then broke into a sprint after it. 

There was no way he was failing again.

He ran through the woods with similar grace as he’d had before. The vamp might be fast, but for once, Dean was faster, more nimble. Dean nearly laughed aloud as he caught up to the vampire, caught up in the sheer glee of being the one on top for a change. Effortlessly on top, too. As though to purposely burst the inflation of Dean’s ego, the vamp slammed a long stick into Dean’s gut, sending Dean tumbling.

Dean lost his grip on the machete as he fell, rolling slightly into the trunk of a withered maple. Maybe he wasn’t as on top of things as he’d hoped. The vamp lunged and Dean deflected, slamming a boot into the vamp’s chest. As the monster fell away, Dean used the opportunity to leap to his feet. He scanned the area in frantic search for his blade, catching sight of it at the same moment the vampire did. Dean sprinted, but the vampire was faster, his pale hand outstretched for the hilt--

\--a shadow passed between them and the vampire fell backwards, as if pushed. Dean didn’t even have time to react to the good fortune, snatching up the machete in a heartbeat. By then, the vampire was back, though he lunged with something akin to terror. Desperation. If Dean didn’t know better, he’d say the expression was similar to a human who had encountered a monster for the first time. Dean scoffed as he dodged the vampire’s attack. That dick had to be stupidly confident to think he could actually avoid meeting a hunter.

It was only while decapitating the vamp that Dean realized maybe the monster had seen something Dean hadn’t. 

The head fell to the ground with a dull thump, the body falling quickly behind. Dean stood, bloody machete poised for another swing, but the forest was eerily silent. Hesitantly, Dean lowered his weapon. Maybe the shadow was nothing. Just the side effect of the moon passing briefly behind a cloud. And the vamp had tripped simply because they were running too fast, or they weren’t focused on the forest floor. 

Dean didn’t want to consider what the alternative might be.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice called out from far away. “Where are you?”

“I’m coming, Sammy!” Dean shouted back, bending to pick up the head of the vamp by its long black ponytail. He held it far away from his jacket. The disembodied head would have been disgusting no matter what, but there was the added bonus of blood still dripping from the neck. Still, Dean knew John would like proof.

“Not bad,” John grunted when Dean dropped the head at his feet. 

That was it.  _ Not bad _ . 

Dean tried to savor the tentative victory on the ride home, but it was hollow. Disappointing. John had always been difficult to please, but ever since the incident, Dean felt it had become nearly impossible to make his father proud. It didn’t take long before Dean felt himself sliding back into the already all too familiar daydream of the forest stream and its mysterious, but handsome, inhabitant. 

Still, with the hunt over, Dean welcomed the distraction. When they’d returned to their motel room, John tugged a 6 pack out of the fridge and they all took turns drinking in between waiting for the shower. None of them spoke. Hunting was exhausting, and although Dean had been doing it since childhood, no amount of hunting could fully desensitize him from the gruesome horror that followed. All the while, blue eyes seemed to haunt him, and Dean found he was too tired to try to resist.

When he finally fell into blissful slumber, Dean awoke in a lush green forest. Sun streamed through the branches and Dean rubbed his eyes, unused to the bright light. It was warm, though, and Dean felt content in the peaceful setting. When his eyes had adjusted, he turned to see Castiel staring at him, blue eyes wide.

“Castiel?” Dean asked as the realization of where he was dawned on him, contentment draining. His initial urge was to call it a dream, but it felt too real to simply be imagined. Had he sleepwalked into the fae realm again? If his brother went looking for him, would his body even still be in West Virginia?

He wondered again if it was possible Castiel was in the forest with him last night, during the vampire hunts. But the strange forest was slightly more pressing. 

“Why am I here?” Dean asked.

Castiel stepped closer, doing the already familiar head-tilt that seemed to imply he was thinking about something. As he approached Dean, he reached out a hand. To Dean’s horror, Castiel’s hand didn’t land gently on his shoulder, but passed right through. Castiel, however, seemed unfazed by this development. “Your spirit has come in your sleep,” Castiel concluded. 

“But  _ why? _ ” Dean asked, his voice cracking. That was the only indicator that he was, in fact, utterly bewildered at the mention that he was literally having an out of body experience.

“I cannot say…” Castiel murmured, his tone so vague that Dean couldn’t tell if Castiel was confused or simply holding out on him. Dean was surprised to notice he didn’t particularly mind. “Is it possible your soul was searching for peace?”

Was it possible? Dean nearly laughed at the phrase. Dean spent most nights having nightmares of some sort or another, it was commonplace by now to wake up in a cold sweat. But that didn’t explain why he’d...ghost-sleep-walked to the fae realm. Rather than answer, Dean posed another question. “Is this part of the enchantment?”

“What enchantment?”

“Whatever you did to me.”

Castiel softened, reaching out his hand to gently touch Dean’s ghostly cheek. Although the touch was not quite there, Dean still shivered. “How you carry the name I gave you is not up to me,” Castiel whispered. Then he brightened, his eyes lighting up. “If you will be here for the night, you might as well join me in my observations.”

A chorus of chirps caught Dean’s attention and Castiel pointed to a nest in one of the trees. The fae’s eyes were practically sparkling with excitement. “The fantail fledglings are preparing to leave their nest.”

Dean felt a strange swell of emotion at Castiel’s reaction, but he pushed it away. The last thing Dean needed was positive feelings of any kind towards the same supernatural creature that stole his mother. Still, Dean had to admit, although the situation was beyond strange, watching baby birds hop out of their nest was a far cry better than running from a mysterious being with glowing yellow eyes. That was a common nightmare. 

He shivered at the memory, though it was quickly banished as the first bird leapt bravely from the trees, falling towards the ground. The fledgling struggled to flap and for a moment, Dean feared they were watching something awful occur--that bird was going to die--when the small fledgling managed to keep itself airbound just long enough to land gently on the ground below.

“That moment when they realize what they are capable of...” Castiel whispered, his gaze transfixed on the other fledglings, “Even I feel lucky to behold it.”

They watched in silence as the other birds leapt from the nest. It was a comfortable silence, though, quite different from the one after the hunt. Dean alternated between watching the birds and watching Castiel watch the birds, which he did with rapt attention. Dean almost didn’t want to leave, but as the final fledgling drifted to the ground, Dean felt an odd tug in his gut. To his surprise, his entire form flickered.

“It seems it is time for you to awake,” Castiel commented.

“Will I be back?” Dean licked his lips. The thought left him torn. On the one hand, he had no idea what he was dealing with here and Dean really ought to do more research before dealing with something as dangerous as a fae. On the other...Castiel’s company wasn’t terrible. And it staved off the nightmares, which was a blessed relief.

“That will depend entirely on you,” Castiel replied. The fae hesitated, tugging on the hems of his sleeves for a moment before adding, “In case you do return, however, I would like a favor.”

“I don’t want to give you--”

“You do not have to give,” Castiel added hastily, “I want to give you a name.” When Dean didn’t respond, Castiel continued, “It feels...strange, simply referring to you as Human.”

“I--” Dean closed his mouth, unsure how to respond. He really shouldn’t agree to anything, this sort of behavior could have been the very same slippery slope that his mother had vanished down so many years ago. Still, despite his many misgivings, Dean couldn’t quite bring himself to refuse.

“I would like to call you Briar,” Castiel said, almost shyly, and Dean hated that he found the gesture endearing, instead of suspicious or worrisome.

“Briar?” Dean asked, but a shake of his shoulder caught him off balance. He looked around the forest, but there was nobody around but Castiel.

“You are waking,” Castiel surmised. “But before you go...does it…” he hesitated, “Do you think it suits you?”

“Briar?” Dean asked again, the name already feeling natural on his tongue. “I, uh...sure?” Dean shrugged, trying to play it cool, though the fae’s stupid faint grin was making him feel off balance. Then again, the off-balance thing might also have something to do with the increasingly urgent shaking of his shoulder.

“Good,” Castiel said, giving Dean a final faint smile. “Wake now, Briar.”

As the forest faded and the name  _ Briar _ hung on his tongue, Dean realized he’d completely forgotten to ask if Castiel had been the one involved in the vampire attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, kudos and comments are appreciated!


	3. Dreams

“ _ The wind is old and still at play / While I must hurry upon my way / For I am running to Paradise” -- W.B. Yeats _

 

Who do you talk to when your dreams have been plagued by fae?

Granted, “plagued” was a bit extreme. Compared to the nightmares he’d been subjected to for years, Dean couldn’t argue that dreaming of Castiel was unpleasant. Over the last week, Dean had followed the tracks of an intrepid snow fox, rearranged smooth stones within a shallow stream and helped Castiel tend to an injured deer. The problem wasn’t the dreams, it was the waking hours, when the dreams would follow him like a smoky haze.

No matter where Dean was, no matter what he did, the thought of Castiel was always present, lingering on the outskirts. 

It felt a little like a crush, though admittedly, Dean wasn’t exactly feeling butterflies for the fae. It’s not like he hated Castiel either...Dean didn’t know how to define what he felt for the fae, just that he couldn’t stop thinking about returning to Castiel’s side. In person. The thought was horrifying--could his mother have reached the exact same fate? Although Dean resisted the urge to return to the forest, he was still relieved their most recent hunt brought them to the suburbs of Grand Junction, far from any forest. Not only did it give Dean a new thing to focus on, the temptation would, hopefully, be alleviated. Even a little. 

In the meantime, it wouldn’t hurt to peruse Grand Junction’s public library in search of fae lore, right?

“Do my eyes deceive me?” Sam’s voice broke the quiet of the library as he peered at Dean from a gap in the shelf. Dean cursed as he nearly dropped the book he’d pulled. “Is my brother actually  _ looking _ for books?”

Dean and Sam had long ago created a system for researching: Sam would find the books, Dean would scan them, looking for clues about their case. When they were younger, and John would leave them alone at the library, it was a good way to keep a small Sam occupied and on his feet. These days, of course, Dean thought of it as finally being able to reap the dividends of acting as caretaker for his little brother. 

Now the damn kid was too smart for his own good.

“Hey, I can find books on ghouls too, y’know!” Dean retorted weakly. Sam disappeared from the gap, making his way to Dean’s side, where he promptly snatched the book from Dean’s hands.

“Right,” Sam teased, “Because a book on fairies is  _ definitely _ gonna help us in our ghoul hunt.”

“Guess I don’t know the library as well as you do,” Dean shrugged, grateful for an easy escape. Dean could always double back to this book later, maybe even sneak back to the library. Oh god. Was  _ this _ part of Castiel’s enchantment too? Sneaking out of the motel room to go to  _ the library _ was certainly a new low for him.

Sam didn’t respond, his smile fading as he examined the worn cover, which was titled  _ Human’s Guide to the Fae. _ “Do you ever think about fae?” 

Dean nearly choked on his own spit.

“I mean…” Sam sighed, ignoring Dean’s silence, “With mom, and…” he trailed off, glancing nervously at Dean.

“Dunno what to tell you, man,” Dean tried to sound casual, though his heart was racing. “No book’s gonna tell us what happened to mom.”

“Yeah, I…” Sam sighed, “I know.” 

He pushed the book back into its place on the shelf, walking away before Dean could get a good glimpse of his face. Dean sagged in relief, though he couldn’t help but also feel a twinge of guilt. None of them talked much about their mom, and Dean has only once mentioned The Incident to Sam. Dean was only eight, he hadn’t grasped just what The Incident meant, and when John had caught him explaining that night to his four year old brother...well, it was enough for Dean to not mention it again. No matter how much Sam begged to know.

Fae were evil. That was enough.

Except Castiel was a fae, and he didn’t seem evil. Dean groaned, trying not to consider the contradiction. If he thought about it too much, his head would start aching and his whole body would itch to wander into the woods. He’d since stopped trying to reconcile the warring ideologies and settled on one definite truth: fae were dangerous. Even Castiel in his gentleness seemed to hold back a wild ferocity. And whether the fae meant to or not, Castiel certainly held some sway over Dean.

With Sam gone, Dean tugged the book off the shelf again, skimming the table of contents until he happened on a chapter titled  _ Protection Against Fae _ . To his surprise, quite a bit of it was similar to tactics they used to defend themselves from other monsters, including religious symbols, salt and iron. Salt, of course, would be easy enough to retrieve, and Dean also made a mental note to try to retrieve the small, iron cross they kept in the trunk of the car. 

He was also interested in something the book referred to as “self-bored stones,” which were stones that, through natural causes, formed a hole in the middle. According to the book, humans could look through a self-bored stone to distinguish between reality and fae glamor. Dean had no idea where he’d find something like that, but he definitely wanted one.

Dean had just skipped to a chapter titled  _ Origins _ when his phone buzzed. John was out front and ready to go. There was no time to keep reading, but the rest of the book seemed filled with useful information. Dean weighed his options. He could leave the book and hope to stumble on another copy in another library, but the book was old. Didn’t seem like the kind of thing everyone would readily have on hand.

Glancing around to ensure he was alone, Dean removed the magnetic strip from the back cover, sliding the strip between two books on the shelf. He also tore the check-out slip off the front, shoving it into his pocket, and tried his best to remove most of the sticker from the spine. He wasn’t exactly fond of stealing library books, but desperate times called for desperate measures. 

Tucking the book into his jacket, Dean held his breath as he exited the building, exhaling in a sigh of relief as he made it outside without the alarm sounding. What he wasn’t expecting was to run into Sam, who was waiting at the front doors with a cross expression on his face. “Where did you disappear to?” Sam hissed.

“Got lost?” Dean tried to shrug, but faltered as he felt the book slip slightly. 

Sam scowled. “You left all the research to me!”

“Well...you are the nerd in the family, right?” Dean tried in vain to lighten the mood, but Sam was irritated at being left to do the thankless work of research aone. Sure, they’d each done their fair share of skipping out on research, but ever since Sam’s Stanford applications, there’d been an unspoken rule that Dean would do whatever he could to lighten Sam’s load. And he had. He’d done his brother’s wash, relinquished shotgun in the car and agreed to permanent couch duty in their motels. 

Which made Dean unexpectedly skipping research come as an even bigger surprise. 

“Sorry,” Dean muttered, not meeting Sam’s eye. In the distance, John honked the horn. “It won’t happen again,” Dean added.

“Jerk,” Sam replied. The insult had become an odd sort of Winchester olive branch over the years.

“Bitch,” Dean responded out of habit as they both made their way to the car, relieved both that Sam had forgiven him, and that he hadn’t noticed the book tucked in Dean’s oversized leather jacket. He promptly hid the book when they returned to their motel room, burying it under his socks and underwear. Even if Sam got suspicious and went snooping, Dean hoped the garments would give his brother pause.

The ghoul hunt went smoothly, though Dean felt he spent less of his time playing hero and more of it calming two children who had been caught up in the mess. Dean always seemed to be relegated the job of handling the scared civilians in a case. John was too gruff, too much a hardened soldier, and lately Sam, who used to charm plenty of people with his big puppy dog eyes, seemed hyper focused on the fight, leaving Dean to reassure and comfort the survivors. 

Dean knew he was a reasonable hunter. He’d once built an EMF radar from an old Walkman, taken on a Woman in White, and tracked a wendigo. But his best work came on the rare occasions he worked alone. There was something about his family that was both reassuring and overwhelming. Admittedly, John had always been intimidating. Sam, on the other hand, used to be different. True, he always had a knack for hunting, but he’d also been scared, reluctant, and even merciful in his approach. That is, until he reached adulthood. Now, as much as Sam might resist the comparison, he was closer to John than Dean.

At least the hunting comparisons faded on the car rides between hunts. They’d barely finished the ghoul hunt, but John was already on his way west, following a lead to a series of strange disappearances along the border of Oregon and Washington. Usually, long drives were for blasting AC/DC and trying not to think...though these days the latter task was a tough order. Thankfully, Dean’s thoughts were interrupted by familiar blue eyes and as Dean kicked off his boots, he allowed himself to drift away, once more, into a fae laced daydream. 

Dean awoke by Castiel’s side. He was on the ground, nearly touching the fae, who smiled a familiar half smile as he looked down at Dean. Rubbing his eyes, Dean sat up. This forest was thick with towering pines clustered together so tightly that the sun barely managed to peek through the needles. It was both gorgeous and foreboding. The stream that trickled nearby was strangely white in color and for a brief moment, Dean considered the possibility that he was not on the same planet.

“It is glacier run-off,” Castiel explained, noticing the confusion on Dean’s face, “Minerals from the glacier change the color of the stream. Further along, this particular stream runs into a lake and the results are quite incredible.”

For someone who said he didn’t like humans, Castiel sure had adjusted to Dean’s presence quickly.

Dean scowled at the thought. It dashed the comfortable familiarity of the foreign forest and brought with it a tide of suspicion. Why would Castiel be so calm, so unperturbed by Dean’s supposedly unexpected presence, unless Castiel was truly behind it? He pushed himself to standing and rounded on Castiel as the fae followed suit. “What are you playing at?” Dean growled. When Castiel didn’t reply, Dean continued, “Why do you keep summoning me here?”

“I am not summoning you,” Castiel’s voice was low. “You keep appearing of your own volition.”

“My own--what?”

“Whether you realize it or not, you have  _ chosen _ to come to my realm,” Castiel insisted, blue eyes unreadable, “I can only surmise it is because you want something.”

“What on earth would I want from a  _ fae? _ ” Dean didn’t mean to spit the last word with such venom, but the idea of wanting something from the very creatures who stole his mother was horrifying. If the comment hurt Castiel, however, the fae didn’t show it, his face remaining as impassive and confusing as ever. 

“I do not know,” Castiel shrugged, “But I can only deal trades when you are here in person.”

Was it a trap? Castiel was essentially trying to convince Dean to return to his realm...and Dean found he didn’t know what to think about that. Half of him, the hunter side, was suspicious. But another part of him welcomed the adventure. Castiel was odd company, but he didn’t ask anything of Dean. With others, Dean was constantly giving, changing, adjusting to fit the needs of the people around him. But Castiel just let Dean be. And the only time (so far) that the fae had asked for anything was only in the promise of Dean receiving something in return.

Maybe that was the risk of fae. They didn’t ask anything of you until it was too late to resist. 

Dean would need to do more research to be sure, though. In the meantime, the temptation of meeting Castiel in person lingered. Perhaps if he went prepared...they definitely had a small iron cross in the car, and plenty of salt. Dean could meet up with Castiel, could settle the “want” that seemed to leave him bound to the fae, and still have a way out if Castiel did, in fact, prove to be violent. 

Dean thought, once again, of the mysterious black shadow that had left the vamp so horrified and wondered if Castiel had anything to do with it.

Castiel cleared his throat and Dean nearly jumped out of his skin. By now, Dean was certain that his inability to concentrate had something to do with the fae. “It is possible,” Castiel said slowly, “That your  _ want _ will abate on its own.”

“If I take care of my, uh,  _ want _ …” Dean winced at the word. It sounded entirely too sexual for the situation. He didn’t want Castiel like that. He didn’t want Castiel at all...right?. “Will I stop visiting?”

“I…” Castiel trailed off, staring at a seemingly empty point in the forest. His gaze flicked back to Dean, then returned to the mysterious point in the distance. Dean turned around, but the only thing behind him was pine trees that seemed to go on forever. Castiel’s brow furrowed and he frowned. “You need to wake up now, Briar.”

A flicker of irritation burned through Dean. “Real mature, trying to kick me out of my own discussion.”

“That’s not it,” Castiel’s eyes remained on the horizon now, his frown growing. “You  _ need _ to wake up now, Briar.”

“Not until I get some answers! I don’t wanna be stuck coming back here every night!”  Well, not if it was going to mean something bad in the long run. Short-term, dreaming of the Castiel had done wonders for Dean’s sleep habits. 

“Interesting you use that phrase,” Castiel murmured, “Due to the circumstances.”

“ _ What _ circumstances?”

Castiel grasped both Dean’s ghostly shoulders. “You  _ need to wake up now, Briar, _ ” he commanded, his voice so unusually intense that this time, Dean couldn’t help but obey.

He could smell pine needles before he opened his eyes and feel hands gripping his shoulder. When Dean opened his eyes, he was face to face with Castiel. Again. Dean blinked. Was this some sort of dream-within-a-dream situation? Castiel’s face was oddly concerned, eyes roving Dean’s body as though searching for something. 

It wasn’t until Dean found himself acutely aware of the cold beneath his feet that he tore his gaze from Castiel’s. They were in a similar forest, though not quite the same as the one they’d just been in. The stream was clear, the pine trees spaced further apart, and Dean could hear the hum of cars on the highway. Dean didn’t fully comprehend the situation until he looked down. Clenched in one hand was the ornate iron cross. In the other, a handful of salt. And his feet were cold because he wore only socks, which were now streaked with dirt and leaves.

In that moment, Dean panicked. 

He held out the iron cross and Castiel stepped back, eyeing it warily. “What the  _ hell _ did you do to me?” Dean cried.

“I do not know,” Castiel murmured, watching Dean with equal parts apprehension and curiosity. “You seem to have wandered here in your sleep.”

“Bullshit!” Dean snapped. Thank goodness he’d come at least somewhat prepared in his sleep, though it sure would have been more effective to bring a real weapon. A handful of salt couldn’t do him much good.

“Do you think I would have summoned you to my side with the very items you could use to repel me?”

Dean paused. Castiel did seem smarter than that. Then again...maybe that was part of the trick, make it  _ seem _ like Dean had really come on his own.

“Briar…” Castiel hesitated, and Dean found he  _ hated _ the way his stomach filled with butterflies at the sound. It wasn’t even his own name and besides, he shouldn’t be so attached anyway. Dean didn’t like the way that desire and disgust were at war within him. Even in the face of such danger, he was torn between trying to hurt Castiel, or hug him.

“Humans do not do this,” Castiel continued, though he took another step away from Dean, “They stumble into my realm. I give them the way out, in exchange for a memory, and then they never return. With your visits, I thought you  _ enjoyed _ our time together, I did not realize…” 

Guilt panged in Dean’s chest. He had enjoyed the visits so far, but wasn’t about to admit as much to Castiel. “How do I know this isn’t another trick?”

“You trust me.”

Dean gripped the iron cross even tighter, the points of its ornate frame pushing uncomfortably against his skin. Good. Pain might actually help him focus. It was possible Castiel was lying; fae could be crafty. Or, the fae could be telling the truth, and Dean was stuck in... _ something _ that he likely couldn’t break free from without supernatural help. And he couldn’t exactly tell his dad he’d gotten caught up with a fae. John would skin him alive.

“Can you stop this?” Dean asked warily, holding the cross in front of him and hefting the salt in his hand. Deep down, Dean figured Castiel wouldn’t attack. It went against all of his hunting instincts, though, believing a supernatural creature (even one he’d spent every night with for the last week) to not be a threat, so Dean ignored that thought.

“Stop what?”

“The sleepwalking. The dreams...all of it!”

Castiel tilted his head, examining Dean curiously, and with that single endearing gesture, Dean knew he was screwed.

“I mean…” Dean clarified, “Just stop the sleep-walking. I don’t wanna wake up in the middle of nowhere with only my boxers on.”

“Boxers?” Castiel’s brow seemed permanently furrowed by now. “I am unsure of what those are--”

“--just make the sleepwalking stop!” Dean interjected, beet red. The last thing he wanted was for Castiel to see him almost naked.

Castiel wandered around Dean, keeping a wide distance between them as he walked. His footsteps didn’t make a sound and the air hummed; Castiel’s eyes were practically electric in the dim light of morning. Dean was torn between  _ horror _ and  _ desire _ , his legs trembling against the urge to move. This was only Dean’s second time in the physical presence of Castiel and already it was more intense than their first meeting.

“I am unsure if that will solve your problem of wanting,” Castiel said finally. 

“What’s the alternative?” Dean could only manage to squeak out the question.

“I...do not know,” Castiel tugged awkwardly on the hem of his sleeve and just like that, the aura of power that had surrounded him evaporated; Castiel seemed less a strange being and more an uncomfortable human. Dean’s whole body relaxed. “I fear this...connection, of sorts, that has formed between us can only be severed by you.”

“Any hints on how to do that?”

Castiel shrugged. “Again, I suggest I fulfill your want.”

“And if I don’t know what that is?”

The fae pinched the bridge of his nose, as if staving off a headache. “I can cast an enchantment to ensure you do not sleepwalk. But you will still likely have the urge to visit my realm until you come to your own conclusion.”

Dean weighed his options. He didn’t love the idea of making another deal with a fae, but the alternative, waking up in the middle of a forest, seemed worse. “Would this be the same as last time?” Dean asked, “I give you a childhood memory?”

“If that’s what you wish to give up.”

Well, that was certainly a surprising answer. “I can choose?” Dean clarified, unsure what he would even give away.

“I would accept any part of you,” Castiel replied with such intensity that Dean couldn’t help but shiver. There was something oddly flattering in the statement, though Dean knew he ought to be more worried than flattered.

What did one give up to a fae? A memory seemed the safest bet, but it was also the only thing Dean knew about giving. Could the fae take his sadness? His guilt? What was possible for Castiel to take? In the end, vowing to read up on the topic as soon as he returned to his family, Dean decided on another childhood memory to give Castiel. It was bigger than the last, but that fact would help Dean grasp an understanding of just what he lost every time he allowed Castiel to take a part of him. 

No doubt, whatever this nebulous  _ want _ was, it would require much more from Dean than a simple memory and he wanted to be prepared for the potential sacrifice.

“I have a memory for you,” Dean said finally, preparing himself for Castiel’s familiar grasp on his shoulder. To his surprise, however, Castiel didn’t move. “Can you just take it from here?” Dean asked, only slightly disappointed that Castiel wouldn’t have to touch him.

“I cannot get in range of you until you’ve removed your protection,” Castiel replied, nodding at the cross in Dean’s left hand. 

Dean had completely forgotten his only on the item. His fingers were still wrapped tightly around it, the sharp edges plunged into his calloused hand. Dean dropped the cross onto the forest floor, wincing as he saw the small cuts it left behind in his skin. Castiel approached Dean tentatively, taking care not to stand near the iron cross, and took Dean’s hurt hand gently in his own. The fae’s fingertips caressed Dean’s palm, worry on his face. 

“You carry much pain,” Castiel whispered, sending his power once again through Dean. 

It was easier to manage this time, Castiel seemed so much more familiar. Dean caught hold of the unpleasant memory and tugged. It hardly budged. He tugged again, harder this time, trying to collect the edges of the scene without tumbling into it. The last thing Dean wanted was to relive it. Although wisps of fear leaked from the corners of the memory, Dean ignored it, placing his focus on condensing the massive memory into a polished sphere of obsidian nearly the size of his fist. As it formed in his other hand, Dean nearly dropped it, not expecting the weight.

Castiel caught Dean’s other hand and Dean opened his eyes.

“That’s it,” he said with a shaky laugh, nudging the obsidian ball into Castiel’s palm. “Now it’s your turn.”

To his surprise, Castiel cupped the memory almost reverently, staring at it for a moment before tucking it away into the folds of his robe. That robe, Dean decided, must be enchanted. Castiel extended his arm, though his other hand still gently clasped Dean’s, and once again tapped two fingers to Dean’s forehead. There was another flash of light, just like before, although this time, it felt more comforting. 

“That should keep you safe, Briar,” Castiel whispered, only hesitantly letting go of Dean’s hand. “You can go in peace.”

Dean felt lighter as he left Castiel’s realm, his feet once again wandering the hidden paths as though he’d spent his whole life in this forest. He didn’t even realize, until he stumbled into the remote motel parking lot where the Impala was parked, that he’d left the iron cross on the forest floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and kudos are most appreciated! And if you're still reading, I most appreciate you :D


	4. Sleep

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the interest of timeliness, this chapter went unbetaed, so all mistakes are my own

“ _For heavy on their senses the faint enchantment lies / Through all the night of anguish and perilous amaze.” -- W.B. Yeats_

 

Dean later learned, as he tried and failed to sneak into the motel room, that he had fallen asleep on the drive and John had left him in the back of the car for the night. They had stopped, according to Sam, along the Columbia river, which marked the border between Oregon and Washington. The family had also, unfortunately, noticed his disappearance. And Dean, socks filthy, day-old clothes torn in several places, and miles away from most of civilization.

“What do you mean you _don’t know?_ ” John grumbled, “I’ve been up since five trying to figure out where the hell you ran off to. I deserve an explanation for your antics.”

“I just...don’t know, sir,” Dean hung his head. It was easier when they were in a city; Dean could just blame it on a bar or a hot girl. (Dean found, after John discovered him kissing the high school quarterback behind their school stadium, that John became a lot more lenient when he believed it was a girl Dean went to bed with.) Except none of his usual excuses worked when they were at a motel in the middle of nowhere.

“You want me to believe you just _woke up_ like this?” John scoffed.

Dean sighed, trying to reassure himself. John was only grumpy because he’d been up early, likely without any coffee. An explanation for his behavior was the least he could offer his dad, but Dean had no idea what say that wouldn’t make John suspicious. If he said magic, his belongings would no doubt be searched for hex bags….which would reveal his book on fae, and that was _sure_ to bring more questions.

When it was clear Dean was not going to give any answers, John gave up in a huff. While John and Sam spent another hour in bed, Dean used the time to change his clothes, washing his socks in the motel sink. When six AM rolled around, John and Sam got ready to go, Sam furtively shooting Dean worried looks while John blatantly ignored him. They spent the morning in tense silence and Dean pretended not to notice when John stopped to buy coffee and didn’t get Dean a cup. That was fair. As far as John knew, Dean spent the night being an idiot and disobeying orders. If Dean _had_ gotten hurt, it would have inevitably derailed the hunt, getting more civilians hurt. John was right. He was always right...wasn’t he? 

_You carry so much pain_. Castiel’s voice drifted into Dean’s mind. It had been a long time since someone had seemed so concerned about Dean’s well being. John worried, a bit, but Dean never knew how much of those worries had to do with the fact Dean was his son, or his helper. With a soft smile, Dean couldn’t help but remember the way Castiel had tenderly held Dean’s hand in his own. When Dean examined the palm Castiel had touched, he was surprised to find it free of injuries. Had the fae healed him? Why? There hadn’t been any agreement about healing.

Dean wondered if the fae utilized kindness to ensnare their victims. Yet another thing he’d have to figure out later.

 _Later_ turned out to be that night, as soon as his head hit the pillow that night. Dean had no sooner closed his eyes when he was opening them in a moonlit forest very similar to the one he’d woken up in yesterday. Dean glanced down, a quick check to ensure he hadn’t walked there in his boxers, but he was fully clothed and partially transparent. Good. Dean breathed a sigh of relief, scanning the forest for the familiar messy haired fae.

He crept (well, sorta floated) along the small stream, keeping an eye out for Castiel. It was odd, not appearing near the fae’s side. Dean always kind of assumed that was just part and parcel with his strange dreams. He considered shouting as he drifted along the stream, but it seemed...out of place, like it would shatter the dream in pieces. Still, when Castiel did not appear, Dean had to wonder what had happened. Was it possible this was just an ordinary dream?

It was around that time that Dean caught sight of Castiel. The fae stood with his back to Dean, feet in the stream, which gurgled into a small pond. Grinning, Dean nearly called out, but as he rushed closer, he caught sight of something that sent him racing into the trees: another fae.

She stood at the edge of the pond, dark hair falling in ringlets onto her sleeveless blue robe. The two were talking, and she looked particularly animated in her responses to Castiel. Unable to hear them, Dean tried to drift closer, keeping to the trees in order to avoid being seen. The last thing Dean needed was for another fae to know about his existence, especially when he knew so little about the first fae in his life.

If Castiel didn’t know he was here, though, Dean might just be able to level the playing field.

As Dean made his way to the edge of the pond, he held his breath--he still wasn’t entirely sure he _did_ breathe in spirit form, but better safe than sorry--and strained to listen. By now, he’d skirted far enough away from the stream that he could see both Castiel’s face and the face of the fae in the pond. Neither looked particularly happy.

“Hannah,” Castiel growled, “I thought you were above being swayed by Raphael.”

Hannah hesitated, blue eyes wide. “It’s not Raphael,” she said, glancing over her shoulder as if Raphael could appear at any moment, “Surely you’ve seen the signs. We’ve ignored it for so long, pretending it wouldn’t happen, but--”

“It will not happen.”

“Castiel,” Hannah crossed her arms with a scowl. Although she was a head shorter than Castiel, she certainly looked like a force to be reckoned with. Castiel, however, did not back down. Hannah dropped her voice. “We did not act with confidence before, and you know what came of it.”

Dean strained to hear, risking another move to a closer tree in order to catch the conversation. He seemed to have moved too quickly, however, as both Hannah and Castiel looked around. Dean ducked behind the tree, holding very still as he stared out to the forest. After a tense moment, however, the fae continued talking.

“What happened in the past is...regrettable,” Castiel replied softly, “But you know my stance.”

“And nothing will sway you?” Hannah pressed.

“I have my own realm to look after.”

“We all do, Castiel,” Hannah’s voice rose, “But nobody else has abandoned the cause--”

“If I recall correctly,” Castiel was ice cold, Dean felt him shiver from the sound of Castiel’s voice alone. He could be one scary being if he put his mind to it. “The cause abandoned me. Or have you not heard Naomi’s account?”

“Castiel--” Hannah pleaded, but Castiel cut her off with a wave of his hand.

“Leave me out of it,” Castiel growled. Hannah, however, stepped forward, placing a hand on Castiel’s shoulder. He hung his head at the touch, adding a quiet, “Please.”

Hannah hesitated, then stepped backwards into the pond. “For what it’s worth,” she said sadly, “You still hold much sway in the kingdom. I hope you choose to use it.” With those words, she sunk into the center of the pond, leaving only gentle ripples in her wake.

Castiel sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Dean hesitated, torn between revealing himself (and admitting he had, in fact, been spying) or staying put and waking up. The decision was made for him when Castiel called, “You can come out now, Briar.”

Sheepishly, Dean emerged from behind the tree. Castiel still stood by the edge of the pond, his feet submerged in the stream. The fae smiled wanly at Dean and Dean had the strangest urge to comfort the guy. For a supernatural creature capable of ensnaring Dean, it was really pretty unfair that he was coming across so pitiable. But Dean, despite his better judgement, was starting to think of Castiel less as a fae and more as a...friend.

“What was that about?” Dean asked as he neared the fae’s side.

Castiel grimaced. “Fae matters that do not concern you,” he muttered, waving his hand in the distance as though to nudge the very thought of Hannah out of Dean’s mind. Still, Castiel brightened as he examined Dean. “You came back.”

“I did.”

“While it is strange for me to be... _pleased_ ,” Castiel said the word as though he’d never spoken it aloud before, “to constantly find a human in my realm, I am still glad to see you.”

“Aw, Cas, you’re making me blush,” Dean kicked at a stone, though his ghostly form ended up drifting right through it. He didn’t want to think about the fact he was _glad_ that Castiel was happy to see him.

Castiel tilted his head, examining Dean carefully. “I do not think it is possible for your body to elicit such a response while you are in this form.”

“It’s a figure of speech,” Dean laughed uncomfortably, hating all the more how endearing Castiel seemed to be. The fae reminded him of a wolf; dangerous in one instant, and the next, entirely too similar to domestic softness for comfort. Dean tried to recall the terrified shiver that had run down his spine as Castiel argued with Hannah. He needed something to keep him alert.

They wandered the forest in silence for a while, Dean trailing behind a pensive Castiel, whose face was more lined than usual. The fae seemed lost in thought and honestly, so was Dean. Still, as Dean noticed the first rays of sunlight starting to creep up from the horizon, he knew his time for the night was likely limited. Each night he went without asking questions was another day in the dark, and Dean was growing tired of it.

“Did you save me?” Dean blurted out. He nearly ran into Castiel, who stopped abruptly at his words.

“What do you mean?”

“In the woods,” Dean clarified, drifting hastily away from Castiel’s personal space. “The day we’d first met. I was hunting a vamp, and…”

“I do not like vampires in my realm,” Castiel replied after a moment of hesitation. Dean filed that observation away for later. Castiel clearly had other motives for intervening in the woods, even if he wasn’t about to admit them.

“And you healed my hand,” Dean continued, waving his hand in front of Castiel. The ghostly nature of his being made that particular motion a little less effective, which was unfortunate. Still, Dean had started on a line of questioning and he wasn’t about to back down now. After all, Castiel had seemed pretty confident that the dreams would keep happening, and Dean wanted to be sure he was fully aware of any faery fine print.

The fae averted his eyes. “What of it?”

“Uh, other than the fact you keep taking things in exchange for your goods and services?” Dean retorted, “Kinda like to keep track of what I’m giving away here.”

Silence fell in the dawn drenched forest. Time always seemed to move differently in Castiel’s realm. Sometimes stretching on for days, other times, like tonight, condensing into what felt like it could only be an hour. Still, Castiel’s silence seemed as though it could last a lifetime, the fae practically frozen in place in the small stream.

To Dean’s surprise, Castiel did not meet his eye, opting instead to stare at a withered pine. “The healing was...included.”

“You mean when you helped with the sleepwalking?” Dean pressed the issue, trying to float into Castiel’s eye line. The fae staunchly averted his eyes, but nodded. Dean huffed. “Sure seems like a hurt hand doesn’t have much to do with my sleep-induced actions.”

“It was included,” Castiel repeated.

“Why?”

“It was hardly more power than I would have used--”

“Bullshit,” Dean snapped. As the sun crept higher, he knew his time was running out. This had to be a forest near where he was sleeping...though Dean didn’t want to think about the implications of that proximity either. He had bigger fish to fry. “Why did you do it?”

“It was--”

“-- _Why?_ ”

“Briar…” Castiel pivoted in place, trying desperately to avoid Dean, avoid the whole conversation, but Dean couldn’t let up. Not now. Not when he was so close.

“ _WHY?”_ Dean roared, his voice ringing out in the trees, scaring some far-away creature. The animal scampered away, its hasty footfalls filling the silence for a moment when Castiel whirled around to stare Dean down, blue eyes wide.

“ _Because you were hurt!”_ Castiel cried, and for the first time since Dean had met him, Dean could well and truly see a spark of sincerity in the being’s eyes. “You were hurt,” Castiel repeated quietly, shaking his head as though willing himself not to show weakness.

Dean was not prepared for the surge of emotions to run through him. He could feel some traces of Castiel’s aura, but also his own potent combination of mistrust, self-hatred and surprise that anyone would have such a reaction to _his pain_. Pain wasn’t exactly something you felt sorry for in the Winchester household, it was a fact of life. Everyone suffered, and more would suffer greater horrors if Dean didn’t ignore his own pain, buck up and save the day.

The _only_ answer that Castiel should have given was one that implied some sort of ulterior motive. Demanding some sort of price, that would have made sense. Or even looking calculating, manipulative. But to seem so...so _fucking sincere_ , it didn’t add up. It didn’t make sense. There was no way anyone should give a shit about him for no reason, so it was absolutely unfair for Castiel to make it seem like he did.

When he heard the tell-tale sign of an alarm clock in the distance, Dean cursed. Time had run out. Castiel must have caught sight of Dean’s form fading, because his eyes widened.

“That’s not a good enough answer,” Dean hissed, glad to have the final word as he drifted into darkness. The victory was tainted, however, as the last thing Dean caught a glimpse of was the look of hurt on Castiel’s face.

When Dean opened his eyes, Sam’s face was inches from his own.

“You were shouting in your sleep,” Sam said.

Nothing like a spiked heart rate to get a guy up in the morning. Dean groaned, running a hand across his face as he sat up. “What did I say?”

“Why?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Because I want to know just how crazy my dreams were, dumbass.”

“No,” Sam shook his head, “I mean, you just kept saying the word _why_. And I was wondering if you…” he shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting to John’s empty bed. Their dad had always been an early riser...when he wasn’t blackout drunk, anyway. Sam took a deep breath. “You get nightmares too?”

In that moment, Sam looked less like the rugged adult he was growing up to be, and more like the little kid Dean had to rock to sleep. Dean had known Sam used to have nightmares, but that had been years ago, and with Sam’s increasingly tough demeanor, well.

“What are yours about?” Dean asked curiously.

“Dunno,” Sam flopped onto John’s empty bed. “Dark stuff, mostly.”

Dean snorted. “That’s basically our whole life, dude.”

Sam shook his head, punching one of the pillows lightly. “It’s different. I’m different. I dunno how to explain it. And sometimes there’s…” Sam hesitated, shaking his head. His bangs drifted over his eyes. “I mean, it _feels like_ there’s someone watching me.”

Unbidden, Castiel’s blue eyes rose in Dean’s mind. _No_. Dean bit the inside of his mouth to force the thoughts away. Sam wasn’t dreaming of Castiel, anyway. Sam wasn’t dreaming of fae at all. By now, Dean realized he’d been silent for too long, judging by the sad puppy eyes Sam was giving him from under his bangs.

“Oooo, spooky.” Dean wiggled his fingers for added effect.

“Stuff it, jerk.” Sam hurled the pillow at Dean, who dodged with a laugh. Even Sam cracked a smile before he flopped back onto the bed with a sigh. “So, do you get nightmares too?”

Not since Castiel. Dean almost couldn’t believe it; he’d never gone this long without a bad dream before. As much as he hated to admit it, dreaming of Castiel didn’t seem to be the worst thing that could happen to him. Maybe. Dean wasn’t so naive to let his guard down entirely. Still, Dean wasn’t about to explain to his younger brother that he’d stumbled across a supernatural solution for his sleeping problem.

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged nonchalantly, finally pushing out of bed, “Get ‘em all the time.”

“What are they about?”

Their conversation, however, came to a crashing halt when John walked into the room, complaining about the crappy selection of food at the gas station and his lazy-ass sons not ready to go. Sam’s vulnerability melted, replaced once again with cool composure as they hunted. While Dean was relieved to avoid the topic of their nightmares, he kind of missed seeing the person his brother used to be.

Dean also spent the day surprisingly unfettered by thoughts of Castiel. The surges of self-hatred that would follow the idea that he could _possibly_ fall for the trick of false sympathy managed to push away most of the usual distractions. It was odd, not thinking about the fae. Soft edges seemed to sharpen again, the pains of reality consuming Dean once again. It sucked.

But this was what he wanted, right? To be safely out of the potential enchantments of Castiel.

And yet, when night fell and Dean once again fell asleep on another crappy motel pillow (this time somewhere in northern Utah) he found he was completely broadsided when, instead of dreaming of a fae with familiar blue eyes, the nightmares of a yellow-eyed man returned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, kudos and comments are appreciated! And thank you for reading :D


	5. Pizza

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> unbetaed chapter, gonna look back over it later, but i wanted to get it up on time

“ _ The fascination of what’s difficult / Has dried the sap out of my veins” _ \--  _ W.B. Yeats _

 

Two weeks passed, completely devoid of Castiel. Dean didn’t dream of the fae, didn’t get distracted of thoughts of the fae, didn’t even feel a pressing need to visit the fae. He had everything he’d wanted. Dean’s life had finally returned to normal, free from the risks of enchantment, and yet something wasn’t quite right.

He missed Castiel.

The Winchesters moved around so much that Dean rarely had the opportunity to grow close to anyone. There had been a few school friends...but it hadn’t taken Dean long to learn it hurt less if he didn’t get attached. The last person Dean missed was Aaron, the dorky stoner Dean had fallen for his junior year of high school. They made out under the bleachers a few times before Dean was forced to skip town. Aaron was the first guy Dean ever kissed.

Not that Dean wanted to kiss Castiel, obviously.

In fact, Dean wasn’t sure what he wanted from Castiel, but there was something oddly reassuring about the way Castiel interacted with him. Though his motives were unknown, it sure seemed like the fae actually cared about him. There was, for example, the look of pleasant surprise that crossed Castiel’s face when he saw Dean each night. It was an expression the fae tried (and failed) to hide. And although, in the big scheme of things, they hadn’t spent much time together, Dean had already noticed Castiel trying to accommodate Dean into his routine. 

Of course, Dean was reasonably suspicious. Any hunter worth their salt would be. The only thing that didn’t make sense was that Castiel’s actions didn’t resemble any outlined in the book. For example, many fae tried to be particularly confusing, using clever speech and double meaning to trick humans into making deals. Others made outlandish offers, things like healing a sick child or blessings of luck or strength. Still others simply offered enchanted food from their realm, food that, if eaten, would bind humans to the fae forever. But as far as Dean could tell, Castiel had only taken the memories that Dean offered...though of course, Dean would have no way of knowing if other memories had been stolen.

In the end, Dean’s return to Castiel’s realm was a result of a particularly disappointing hunt. They’d lost a civilian (that was always hard) and John had ripped Dean a new one. In a twist of fate, it was  _ Dean _ who’d left for the bar, grabbing a handful of bills on his way out the door. He’d spent most of it on entirely too much whiskey. Better drunk than sober. After the bar, Dean had blown the remainder of his cash on a cheap pizza, meaning it was up to him to make it back to the motel on foot. Which he’d entirely planned to do...until he passed a thick grove of trees along the highway and, well, curiosity got the better of him. 

Dean stumbled through the darkness, tucking the half empty box of pizza under his arm as he ducked clumsily under branches. Everyone had an ulterior motive and Castiel couldn’t be any different. Dean would prove it. He’d definitely prove it. He’d--Dean’s foot caught on a gnarled root, sending him tumbling face-first into his pizza box. Shit. Maybe, just maybe, wandering into a forest in the middle of the night  _ wasn’t _ the smartest idea. With a groan, Dean stood, again scooping the pizza box into his arms. He wasn’t about to lose one of the few good things in his life to a drunk idea. Unfortunately, the more Dean wandered, the more lost he became. There was no stream in sight...and no highway either.

“Shame Castiel can’t magic his ass here,” Dean grumbled to himself as he ran into yet another branch. By now, the winter chill was starting to set in. Although they were somewhere in Texas, the humidity counteracted any benefit the extra warmth brought. Dean swore to himself he was not going to make anymore drunken decisions as he wobbled over thick tree trunk-

-and smack into someone’s chest. Dean yelped, stumbling backwards, which, of course, was where the tree trunk happened to be. The sensation of falling followed, but as Dean braced himself for the landing, it never came. One strong hand caught Dean between the shoulder blades, the other rested at the small of Dean’s back and, as Dean looked up to catch a glimpse of his savior, it was blue eyes staring down at him.

Castiel.

_ Shit _ .

The fae’s nose and cheeks were pink, probably from the cold, and his brow was knit in worried confusion. Dean had never been more grateful for winter, as it gave a convenient excuse for why  _ his _ cheeks were pink too. If Castiel wasn’t a supernatural creature who may or may not be bent on destroying Dean, well...he might just be Dean’s type. Not to mention, there was something mortifying about being rescued by the guy Dean had hoped to confront. 

They stood together in awkward silence, Castiel keeping steady hold of Dean, before Dean forced a laugh. “Geez, Cas,” he said, pushing himself to standing, “Buy a guy dinner first.”

“I...cannot purchase a meal for you,” Castiel’s murmured, gently removing his hand from the small of Dean’s back. Dean could still feel the lingering touch of warmth. Castiel waved a hand, and a light, clear as moonlight, filled the forest, lighting both their faces and the nearby area. “Although I am sure there could be something--”

“It’s an expression, dude,” Dean’s laugh was genuine this time, “Besides, I came prepared.” He hefted the now-cold pizza box with a grin. Castiel’s brow knit together as he squinted at the box and Dean had to stifle another laugh. It was hard to see Castiel as an intimidating supernatural creature when the guy was perplexed by a pizza box.

“Humans are eating very strange things now,” Castiel grunted, poking the box.

“That’s just the box,” Dean swayed slightly as he opened it. He was still pretty drunk, but was in much higher spirits now that Castiel had arrived. Best of all, whether it was his own will-power or the alcohol, Dean couldn’t feel any of the mysterious power that usually emanated from the fae. 

Castiel’s eyes widened as he stared at the pizza. “What is that?”

“Pizza. Basically bread, tomatoes, cheese...and a hell of a lot of grease.”

The fae actually bit his lip at this and  _ hot damn _ it was stupidly endearing. Dean chalked it up to the whiskey, though he couldn’t keep a grin from spreading across his face. Castiel hesitated on the spot, glancing between the pizza and Dean...then back to the pizza. 

“Do fae eat?” Dean asked slyly, an idea forming in the back of his mind. One more deal, just one, to clear up whether or not Castiel was going to pull him into captivity. If Dean could ensure Castiel wasn’t trying to ensnare him, well, he wouldn’t mind keeping him as a friend. (Not friend. Asset. It would just be useful to have a fae in his back pocket, that was all.)

“We can, if we desire…” Castiel tugged on his robes again, his face lit by the moonbeam. “Are you...offering?”

“Well,” Dean elongated the final consonant for emphasis. He was having entirely too much fun with this. The whiskey had made him bolder than usual...and vastly increased his propensity for banter. “You know, feeding a fae was  _ far _ more work than I’d anticipated doing tonight…”

Castiel rolled his eyes impatiently. “Very funny, Briar. What do you want?”

“Your word,” Dean said hastily, almost not believing his lucky, “I don’t wanna get stuck as your sex slave or something.”

“That is not how fae magic works!” Castiel snapped indignantly, cheeks even more red from the cold.

“Fine, not a sex slave, but you know what I mean,” Dean replied, wiggling the box of pizza in front of Castiel, “I don’t wanna have to worry about not being able to go home after I visit you.”

The fae blinked, blue eyes wide. “You want to keep visiting?”

“Obviously,” Dean responded too fast, his tongue loosened by the alcohol. He hastily tried to backtrack. “I mean, uh--”

“I accept,” Castiel interrupted, “You will have my word. I will never ensnare you, Briar.”

“Or try to steal my name?”

“Your name is a gift, it can only be given by you,” Castiel replied solemnly, and Dean was slightly taken back by the power behind it. This was something the fae believed strongly in, although Dean could not understand why. Still, it seemed to fit fairly well into the bounds of their agreement, so Dean wasn’t about to complain.

“How do I know this is a deal?”

Castiel thought for a moment, then stepped forward. He moved silently and quickly, by Dean’s side in seconds. The fae gripped Dean’s shoulder. “I give you my word, I will never ensnare you,” Castiel growled, blue eyes glowing slightly. A small surge of power rippling through Castiel’s fingers, past Dean’s layers to Dean’s very core. He felt warm, safe, though his shoulder burned ever so slightly. And then Castiel’s hand was gone, the moment dissolving into the mist.

“Can I eat the pizza now?”

Dean laughed. In seconds Castiel had gone to otherworldly to...well...the furthest thing from threatening. He extended the box to Castiel, who tentatively grabbed a slice of pizza in both hands, one hand pinching the narrow end, the other holding the crust. Castiel stared at the pizza for a moment, then took a bite right out of the middle.

The pizza box fell out of Dean’s hands as he couldn’t contain his laughter. No doubt the humor was enhanced by the alcohol and the lateness of the hour, but in that moment, Dean had never seen anything funnier than Castiel trying to eat pizza. The fae scowled, glancing up at Dean, the pizza sagging in his grip.

“What is humorous?”

Dean couldn’t speak through the laughter. Instead, he crouched, picking up a slice of pizza to demonstrate the correct way to eat it. Really, for a first introduction to pizza, Castiel was getting the short end of the stick. It was cold by now, the cheese already starting to congeal, and it was cheap and greasy...but still pizza.

Eyes narrowing, Castiel released the narrow end of his slice, mimicking Dean’s actions. He was, as far as Dean could tell, the most grumpy person to ever eat pizza. Castiel’s featured softened, however, when he caught sight of Dean shivering, and with a wave of a hand, the dark forest disappeared, replaced with green leaves and the beginnings of a sunset. Castiel chanced another glance towards Dean before continuing with his pizza.

“Thanks,” Dean mumbled, finishing off his slice.

In the end, Castiel ate the remaining slices, each with intense focus. Dean wandered around the forest a bit, running his fingers along the bark of trees. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but the world definitely felt more tangible when he visited in his real body and not in spirit form. When he wandered back, Castiel had finished the pizza, rinsing his hands in a stream. “Thank you, Briar,” he said, his voice deadly serious. Really, the guy seemed as intense about this as one might be if Dean had saved their life. “It has been many centuries since I have consumed human food.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean muttered, trying to avoid eye contact with Castiel. He wasn’t sure what to make of Castiel’s sincerity. Besides, it was just pizza, crappy pizza at that. For a fae that had existed for millenia, it sure didn’t seem like Castiel ought to be so impressed by cheap pizza. Then again, Castiel really shouldn’t be so invested in Dean either. 

“What would you like to do now?” Castiel asked quietly.

“Why ask me?”

Castiel shrugged. “You came into my realm, I imagine you’ll tell me when you want to leave.”

Dean considered. He was starting to grow tired now, and the warmth was making his eyelids grow heavy. If there was anyone who could probably magic the forest floor to be comfortable, it was the fae. But if he spent all night out...well, he hadn’t exactly ended things on a high note with his dad. What if he overshot it and ended up getting home in the middle of the next day? But it was so  _ warm _ here…

He awoke to birdsong. Dean slowly opened his eyes, squinting against the streams of sunlight that trickled through the leaves. He brought a hand up to shield his face and nearly fell. To Dean’s surprise, he was laying in some sort of hammock, although it appeared to be made of vines. Just as he’d expected, Castiel had made his sleeping experience more comfortable, although Dean didn’t want to think about  _ how _ he’d gotten into the hammock. 

He peered over the edge of the hammock to see Castiel crouched at the edge of the stream, peering intently into a small pool that had formed. Dean considered getting up and at least saying hello (not to mention going about the business of getting back home) when Castiel spoke. 

“It is not funny, Gabriel.”

Dean hastily peeked his head above the edge of the hammock, scanning the forest for another person, or an animal even, but he and Castiel appeared to be alone. Could the figure be invisible?

“It’s pretty funny, Cassie,” a deep voice rang out, “You always did have a soft spot for strays.”

Castiel scowled at the creek bed and Dean wondered if he had done some sort of magic to the creek to make it speak. Or maybe, this was a way fae could communicate? Castiel did seem pretty adept at nature magic, after all. 

“Briar is not a stray!” Castiel protested. Dean felt a small twinge of pleasure at Castiel’s defense. It wasn’t his name, but it felt like it could be. “He likes coming to my realm.”

“He likes coming or he’s compelled to come?”

Dean waited for the answer with bated breath. Even if Castiel lied to him, he wouldn’t lie to another fae, right? Especially one who he seemed to be on good terms with. Then again, Castiel’s place in the fae world seemed to be complicated, if his discussion with Hannah was any indication.

“He  _ likes _ coming, Gabriel.”

Gabriel groaned. “Oh, Cassie. What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

“I am not in anything,” Castiel retorted grumpily, poking the ground with a stick as he gazed into the small puddle. “Briar is just my friend.”

There was silence on the other end and in that moment, the birds and insects of the forest seemed to magnify in their noise. Then Gabriel sighed, and Dean recognized the soft, familiar sound of pity. “Do you remember that wolf pup you found?”

Castiel’s jaw tightened. “This has nothing to do--”

“He was separated from his pack and you decided to raise him…”

“Stop it.” Castiel muttered.

“Everyone told you not to get attached,” Gabriel continued, unperturbed by Castiel’s increasing discontent, “But you did. You gave it a name and everything, and then--”

“-- _ stop it _ ,” Castiel interjected, jabbing the stick more violently into the dirt. “We both know how this ends.”

“ _ The wolf pup grew up and-- _ ” Gabriel’s voice was raised now, as though anticipating Castiel might try to speak over him. But Castiel didn’t open his mouth. Instead, he splashed the stick through the water, ending the enchantment and quieting Gabriel. Castiel sat in silence for a minute, the stick abandoned at his side, but Gabriel’s voice did not return. What happened to the wolf, Dean would never know.

But it sure made Dean look like an ass asking to go home now.

Dean tried to justify it. He didn’t owe Castiel anything and really, it was the fae’s own fault for being bad at enchantments. If Castiel had been better, he could have enchanted Dean already, but...well...obviously he wasn’t very good at enchanting Dean. Or maybe Dean was just especially smart. Deep down, Dean wasn’t sure either of those theories were true, but he didn’t want to admit it.

And besides, he really did have to get back to his family.

To pretend he hadn’t heard a thing, Dean made a show of yawning loudly, stretching wide and rubbing his eyes, just for good measure. Reluctantly (the hammock really was comfortable) Dean left the comfort of his bed and wandered to Castiel’s side. The fae’s wooden crown was askew and Dean had the oddest urge to straighten it.

He resisted the urge, instead giving the fae’s shoulder an awkward pat. “Do I owe you anything for the hammock?” 

“No point charging you for decisions you did not make,” Castiel tossed the stick into the stream. “Besides, I sense you will eventually return with bigger requests.”

“Can you tell the future?”

Castiel rolled his eyes and Dean was relieved to see some of the weight slip from Castiel’s shoulders. “You are a hunter. There will always be bigger problems in your life.”

“Right,” Dean shifted awkwardly, “About that…”

“You need to return,” Castiel surmised, pushing to his feet. “Hunting is a rigorous job and I have kept you for longer than you intended to stay.”

“Nah,” Dean shook his head, “It was about time I got a good night’s sleep. I’ll just need...an excuse...for getting back so late.”

That wasn’t something he really wanted to consider. Ever since Dean had met Castiel, he’d gotten on John’s bad side  _ constantly _ . It wasn’t Castiel’s fault. In fact, though Dean didn’t want to admit it, the whole thing was probably long overdue, but still. He hated getting into arguments with John. It might be different if he came back with a few hickeys, at least  _ that _ would explain why he’d been out all night, but the only way he’d get those now was from Castiel and that was...well, Dean didn’t want to think about what that was.

Castiel smiled softly. “Time doesn’t always move at the same speed,” he said, “You ought to be okay.”

He waved his hand and the forest vanished, replaced by the same dark place Dean had run into Castiel the night before. The cold hit Dean like a sledgehammer and he gaped into the moonlight. “Did we just...time travel?”

Apparently, that was the dumbest question Castiel had ever been asked, because the fae simply huffed into the cold night air. He gazed keenly into the distance, as though calculating something. “You need to leave towards the east road, correct?” he asked, leaning his head as though trying to listen to something far off.

Stunned, Dean nodded. 

Castiel wandered a bit more, then pointed off in a direction. “Follow my stream, it will lead you to where you need to go,” his voice was hard and he stared off at a tree. It was an intimidating expression, Castiel was intimidating in general, but Dean couldn’t help but sense a twinge of disappointment in the fae. 

“I’ll be back,” Dean said, “I promise.”

Castiel didn’t move, still staring away from Dean. With no response, Dean slowly made his way in the direction of the stream, walking in silence before Castiel appeared by his side. “You forgot this,” Castiel said gravely, handing Dean the pizza box. They made eye contact and for a moment, Dean wondered again if Castiel could enchant someone with his blue eyes, because Dean didn’t want to look away.

It was the fae who broke eye contact, disappearing into the night in silence. Alone, Dean wandered home, feeling strangely like he’d just experienced some sort of new beginning. If nothing else, having a fae as a friend might have advantages he could utilize. Castiel was right, Dean was a hunter and whether he liked it or not (he still wasn’t sure how to feel about magic) Dean was already considering big requests.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are appreciated!


	6. Yellow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Turns out I forgot that holidays are rough at home, so this definitely isn't my best (or longest) chapter. Sorry y'all. Hopefully next week's will be better.

_“Oh you will take whatever’s offered / And dream that all the world’s a friend, / Suffer as your mother suffered, / Be as broken in the end.” --W.B. Yeats_

 

Something was wrong with Sam.

Dean noticed it in the middle of a werewolf hunt, a week or so after his “sleepover” with Castiel. The family had split up, John chasing a lead down an alley. Unfortunately, the werewolf found Sam and Dean before they could find it, lunging at Sam before he had a chance to pull his gun. Dean screamed. There was no real opening to take a shot, the werewolf was _on_ Sam and the chances of hitting his brother were high. For a sickening moment, it looked like things could be the end, the werewolf’s claws creating an awful gash in Sam’s left arm.

And then Sam’s eyes glowed yellow.

He flung the werewolf off him with surprising strength, the beast hitting the pavement several feet away with a painful thud. The wolf stood again, rushing towards Sam, but its fall had bought Dean some time. He shot once, then twice, hitting the wolf in the leg. The wolf stumbled, and then Sam was on it, plunging a silver blade into the werewolf’s heart. Everything was over as quickly as it had begun.

Once Dean was certain the monster was down, he ran to Sam’s side. Aside from the bloody gash down Sam’s arm, however, he didn’t seem to be harmed. Dean reached to touch Sam, but stopped short. After years of nightmares of yellow eyes, there was something disquieting in seeing his brother’s eyes take on a similar glow. Was he possessed? Was there some sort of...disease? And, most importantly, had Sam _meant_ to do what he did to the werewolf?

Still, when Dean looked down at Sam, all he could see was his brother. His bangs hung over his eyes, his hoodie was slightly too big, and although Sam had reached adulthood, he still looked like Dean’s kid brother who constantly needed protection. Maybe, Dean rationalized, the glowing eyes was just a trick of the streetlight. And Sam managed to throw the werewolf because...because he had a rush of adrenaline. That was a thing, right? Dean swore he’d heard stories of mothers lifting cars to save their kids.

Dean’s worries vanished when Sam turned to face him, his eyes a familiar hazel. Maybe, just maybe, he could pretend nothing had happened. After all, it really could have been nothing. Dean was just jumpy, that was all. It was a hunt, he’d been caught off guard.

Besides, he’d know if Sam was a monster.

And that was that. Dean could pretend he didn’t notice. Hell, he could pretend it didn’t even happen...although in Dean’s heart of hearts he doubted it would be possible for him to forget. How could he? There was something unsettling about seeing his brother with the same, eerie gaze as the one that had haunted Dean for all these years. Of all their time hunting, Dean had never stumbled across something with yellow eyes, and he’d started to hope it was simply an irrational reoccuring dream.

The best thing to do would be to tell John. Their dad was more experienced, after all, and might have an idea of how to fix this. Then again, John was more than a little black and white in his hunting: there were monsters and there were humans and that was it. And, like it or not, Sam doing whatever the hell he did wasn’t exactly _human_ behavior. It seemed unlikely...but it wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities to think John might actually hurt Sam.

If Dean had one job in the world, it was making sure Sam was safe.

So he didn’t say anything at all, not to Sam and definitely not to John. They did their post-hunt drinks in silence and drove back to the motel as though nothing had happened. But something _had_ happened, and like it or not, Dean couldn’t get the image of his brother with yellow eyes out of his head. Every time he closed his eyes, it seemed like there was his nightmare staring back at him, except now his nightmare had his brother’s face. This went on for hours until finally, blessedly, when Dean closed his eyes, he was met with familiar blue.

“Thank god, Cas,” he sighed, not even bothering to look away from Castiel’s very much not yellow eyes. They were very close, but Dean, so relieved go be free of the nightmare, did not mind.

Castiel squinted. “Cas?”

That was enough to get Dean to pull away. To his dawning embarrassment, he realized he’d appeared mere inches from Castiel’s nose and then unintentionally nicknamed the guy to boot. “It’s catchy?” Dean fumbled, trying to resist the urge to bury his head in his mostly transparent shirt.

“You have given me a name,” Castiel whispered, the corners of his lips twitched upwards, as though he was trying very hard not to smile. It was endearing and Dean found it difficult to avoid falling into the moment. Here, the outside world didn’t have to exist. It could just be Dean and Castiel, exploring some quiet forest stream and sharing the names they had assigned to one another. Dean was learning how to discern Castiel’s aura, and it was quiet and comforting, like watching snow fall at night.

But the outside world _did_ exist. And Sam was there, quite possibly in danger.

“I actually came for something else,” Dean said, hanging his head. He’d wondered, on long car rides and late nights, what he’d be willing to sacrifice to Castiel in order to make big deals. Because Castiel was right, hunting wasn’t exactly a low risk career. If it wasn’t this, it would have been something else. Maybe John would have gotten captured, Sam injured, a monster they just couldn’t quite beat...sooner or later, Dean knew he would have to cash in. “Something might be wrong with my brother.”

“And you have come to me for help,” Castiel surmised. “What is it?”

Dean hesitated. After all, it was possible nothing was wrong with his brother, and there was no point in bargaining away too much too quickly. Not to mention, although he had Castiel’s word that the fae wouldn’t enchant him, there was no saying what would come of regular magical interventions. Not to mention, what might happen if Castiel knew too much about Sam. No, better to play it safe. “Is there a way to see if he’s been in contact with the supernatural?” Dean asked, “I think he’s gotten involved with...something.”

Castiel gazed at him, exhaling a slow breath. Then, without a word, he made his way to the stream, kneeling to reach his hand into the water. Dean drifted closer, curious, as a light glowed softly in the ripples of the stream. Castiel had caught something in his hand, and he lifted the object out of the water and held it towards Dean. It was a smooth, grey stone, roughly the size of Castiel’s hand, with a hole in the center.

“A self-bored stone?” Dean asked, recalling the chapter in the fae book that discussed the power these stones held to see through enchantment.

“Most call it an adder stone,” Castiel replied, pinching the stone in his long fingers and peering through it. “As it is strong enough to see through fae enchantments, it should surely catch traces of any other magics.”

“Perfect,” Dean reached for the stone, “I have a memory for you--”

Castiel snatched the stone away from Dean’s reach. “Actually,” the fae admitted, “I would like something else.”

Dean frowned. He had not expected to haggle with Castiel. “What?”

“I,” Castiel hesitated, “Would like you to visit in person soon.”

“For how long?”

“Two days and two nights,” Castiel said softly. “I have a...matter that needs attending to, and a human would help greatly.”

“Can’t you just enchant someone to do that?”

Castiel scowled. The fae, it seemed, was as unaccustomed to being haggled as Dean was. “Then they would be stuck with me for eternity. _You_ would not. Besides,” he added, twisting the stone between his fingers, “I enjoy your company.”

Dean gaped. “Are you asking me to be your plus one or something?”

“I am not asking you to be anything of _mine!_ ” Castiel snapped, offended.

“Dude, chill,” Dean actually patted the guy’s shoulder on accident. The more time he spent with Castiel, the less...well...fae-ish the guy got, and that was especially true when Castiel struggled with modern phrases. Really, everything became less frightening the moment someone could tease it, and the fae was no exception.

“You don’t have to--” Castiel began, but Dean stopped him again.

“I’ll do it.” Dean wanted to remain on Castiel’s good side, and besides...as awful as it was, two full days in the fae’s realm kind of sounded like a nice vacation. No hunting, no worrying about angering John, and no Sam, with the yellow eyes that Dean never wanted to see again. “When would I have to be here?”

“In four days time,” the fae replied. “Do you give your word that you will be here and remain by my side for two days and two nights?”

Four days? That didn’t exactly give Dean much time to fabricate an excuse for being gone. They so rarely split up for hunts; despite the fact Dean had performed admirably while alone, John refused to believe he was capable. And heaven forbid Dean and Sam leave him for a hunt. That option had disappeared after the incident.

Then again, with the adder stone, four days would be the perfect amount of time to figure out if more action was needed to help Sam. Dean had to make it work.

“I give my word,” Dean replied, holding out a ghostly hand to shake Castiel’s. The fae stared at the gesture. “It’s what humans do to seal a deal,” Dean explained.

“I simply needed your utterance.”

“Yeah, well, I kinda prefer we shake on it too. Just for good measure,” Dean wanted to assert at least a small amount of power. He obviously didn’t have much of it here, in the magical realm controlled by a powerful and immortal being. To Dean’s surprise, Castiel took his hand gently and laid his other hand over Dean’s palm. Dean couldn’t tell if Castiel was aware of the intimacy of the physical contact; the fae stared at Dean with his inscrutable blue eyes.

When Castiel pulled away, Dean discovered the adder stone rested in his grasp, made the same ghostly transparency as Dean himself. “Did I...break the adder stone?” Dean asked with confusion, holding the stone carefully between his index finger and thumb.

“I transferred it to you,” Castiel explained, “When you wake, the full form ought to be in your palm.”

Huh. That was convenient. Out of curiosity, Dean held the adder stone to his eye, peering through it at Castiel. He nearly fell over at the sight of large black wings extending from Castiel’s shoulder blades. They weren’t feathery, at least, there weren’t long feathers, but even from a distance they looked strong and soft. When Castiel caught sight of Dean staring at him, his wings curled around his shoulders protectively, as though he was embarrassed.

“I should have expected that,” Castiel’s wings curled further inward, as though trying to hide his face. “I know my wings are not as lovely as they ought to--”

“Dude, they’re stunning,” Dean couldn’t look away. He drifted closer, adder stone still pressed to his face as he inspected the wings. Up close, he could see the wings were made up of tiny feathers, all fluffed up as Castiel completely shielded his face, dropping his head into his hands. Dean couldn’t understand why Castiel would be ashamed of his wings, they really were incredible. It was all Dean could do not to reach out and touch them.

“Briar,” Castiel peeked out from his wings, “You have not seen other fae’s wings--”

“Doesn’t matter,” Dean couldn’t help himself, he reached out to brush the wings, and holy shit they were soft. Castiel hastily ducked his head back under his wings, but did not pull them away. “ _These_ are beauties.”

There was something absolutely enchanting about Castiel’s wings and Dean wondered if they were where fae stored their power. It took all of Dean’s self control to keep himself from running his fingers through the feathers, from the base of Castiel’s back all the way down to the far tip of the wing, which was so long it almost touched the ground. Still, if Castiel was self conscious about his wings, seemed like kind of a dick move to keep touching them.

Dean even removed the adder stone from his eye, the wings vanishing from his sight. Other things appeared slightly different about Castiel as well, but Dean had been so focused on the wings that any other changes had been absolutely lost on him. Oh well, a discovery for another day.

When Castiel peered up at Dean to find the adder stone was gone, he relaxed. “Would you,” Castiel cleared his throat, and Dean wondered what his wings were doing now, “Would you like to see a waterfall?”

The rest of the night passed in the same pleasant blur that accompanied most dream visits to Castiel. Like everything Castiel showed Dean, the waterfall was beautiful; in fact, it was almost more lovely than if he’d stumbled upon it in real life. Most things were that way with Castiel and Dean couldn’t decide if it was something to do with the fae realm or Castiel himself.

Dean was honestly close to calling the guy his friend.

Of course, it made waking up all the more difficult. Although it was true that Castiel didn’t seem to be trying to enchant Dean, he was...well, he was too damn nice. Castiel was always pleased to see Dean, he listened to Dean ramble, and he was safe. Before Castiel, Dean didn’t know the last time he’d felt safe.

When the tell tale signs of waking came, Dean gave Castiel a begrudging goodbye. “See ya in four days, Cas.”

“Good luck, Briar.”

And just like that, Dean was awake. The adder stone was cool and heavy in his hand, dimly lit by the dawn light peeking through the curtain. Dean glanced at the clock, the time was 5:45. Although Dean didn't like the thought of leaving Castiel any sooner than he had to, it was convenient being awake before everyone else. John was still snoring on the other bed, and as Dean shifted slightly, he was aware of Sam’s form near his. Good. Nobody was awake, so there would be no questions as to how he’d managed to acquire an adder stone.

Fingers trembling, Dean held the stone to his eye, peering through it at his brother. He breathed a sigh of relief. Sam, unlike Castiel, didn’t change drastically. In fact, nothing seemed to be different. Dean sat up in bed, scanning the room with the adder stone to look for hex bags or other enchantments, but he found nothing. Good. Dean breathed a sigh of relief, twisting to check Sam one more time when he caught sight of a dim yellow haze. It seemed to wink in and out of existence, maybe there, maybe not, but after another check of the room, one thing was certain: the yellow haze only existed around his brother.

Something was definitely wrong with Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, if you're enjoying this, feel free to let me know! I really appreciate y'all's support.


	7. Away

_ “Nor would you rise and hasten away, / Though you have the will of wild birds” -- W.B. Yeats _

 

In four days of research, Dean had no leads on what could be happening to Sam. Although Sam’s eyes did not glow again, no amount of salt, holy water or iron did anything to temper the yellow haze that surrounded Sam every time Dean checked with his adder stone. That said, Sam seemed fine. A bit too serious, maybe, but that was just a marker of adulthood. It was impossible  _ not _ to become serious, especially with John at the helm of their broken family. 

The problem with not knowing what was wrong with Sam, however, was the fact Dean had no specifics to bring to Castiel. “Banishing a yellow haze,” seemed too ridiculous a request, even for a fae. There was good news, however, that came from his research: Dean had a guess as to why Castiel might be summoning him. The winter solstice was approaching, and although Dean didn’t know if fae specifically had rituals surrounding the event, there were plenty of other supernatural creatures that did.

This was both a good and bad thing. On the one hand, it meant there would definitely be multiple hunts available...but on the other, John usually expected Dean to follow in  _ his _ hunts. Not to mention, if Dean did manage to get to another hunt, John would also expect him to succeed. The third option would, of course, be to run away...but Dean couldn’t do that. Not to Sam. It was going to be hard enough leaving Sam with John anyway.

Dean had never willingly left Sam alone with their father. Although Dean had experience hunting alone, those opportunities usually came as punishments from John. John knew Dean’s weaknesses, he knew well what Dean cared about, and after The Incident, he’d been all too happy to take his anger out on Dean. 

It was moments like this, stressfully trying to decide what the best way to exert his independence would be, that made Dean regret his choice all those years ago. Sam probably had the right idea, running away to Stanford. Even though Dean wasn’t interested in attending school, Sam had wanted him to come too. Insisted on it, even. They’d be together, free of John and hunting and all the pain that lingered. Whether it was fear of being on his own or love for his brother, Sam promised he would only leave if Dean accompanied him. And Dean had agreed.

But Dean had gotten cold feet and a week before they were set to run away, he told John everything.

John had been furious, Sam, heartbroken; without realizing it, Dean fundamentally altered his relationship to his family in one fell swoop. His dad blamed Dean for corrupting Sam. After all, Sam had been growing up to be a promising hunter, much more skilled than Dean, and John felt his talents would be wasted at school. Meanwhile, Sam grappled with the betrayal of the older brother he once trusted implicitly. Dean tried to make up for it in any way he could, he practically bent over backwards for Sam, but the damage was done. It was an awful mess and Dean had nobody to blame but himself for it.

Still, the past wouldn’t be erased. All Dean had was the present. In the end, he got lucky with a potential case. “Missing persons here in Charlottesville,” Dean explained to John during breakfast, pointing to the web article he’d pulled up on the laptop they shared, “The girl was about Sam’s age. She vanished about a week ago.”

“So?”

“So,” Dean continued, “The rest of her family burned to death in their home. That’s pretty suspicious, right?”

“Or it’s just arson,” John grunted, digging into his eggs.

Admittedly, that’s what Dean was banking on. It might be a bit humiliating to come back from a hunt that wasn’t really a hunt, but it was better than vanishing on a real case. A lot could go wrong in two days. But an arsonist, unlike a werewolf, had the police on their trail. “But it might not be,” Dean insisted, hoping he sounded convincing, “What if something lit her house on fire?”

“Dean,” John wasn’t buying it, “One of our busiest days of the year is approaching and you want to abandon it for an arson case? What has gotten into you?”

Instinctively, Dean cringed. He wondered what Castiel could do to him if he didn’t keep his promise, but the worst thing Dean could think of was Castiel  _ leaving _ him for good. The fae was strange, and probably dangerous, but he was the nicest person in Dean’s life. Of course, the alternative was pissing off his dad. It was hard to know if Castiel’s kindness would make up for John’s fury. Dean was about to back down when, to his surprise, Sam spoke up.

“Actually,” Sam interjected, “I saw a similar arson case in Texas.”

Both Dean and John turned to stare. Sam shrugged, undaunted by the attention. “The guy was about my age. He lived with roommates, not family, but same sort of thing. Dude’s house burned down and now he’s nowhere to be found.”

Dean couldn’t believe it. Was Sam really lying for him? He waited with bated breath as John considered Sam’s explanation. His brother might not get along with their dad, but nobody could deny that Sam was the sharpest hunter in the family. John took another bite of eggs, chewed slowly, then swallowed. “We can check it out after the Oklahoma case.” 

At those words, Dean’s heart sank. Of  _ course _ Sam’s request would get taken seriously. Not only did it not split them up, but it was from Sam. Sam might hate being the golden child, but that didn’t change the fact he was John’s favorite. Dean clenched his jaw, trying not to show any signs of disappointment, when John spoke again. “Dean can handle this arson case in Virginia for the next few days.”

Had he heard his dad right? Dean exchanged glances with Sam, who raised his eyebrows in surprise. “I won’t let you down, sir,” Dean said hastily, resisting the urge to also salute. This was  _ perfect _ . John and Sam would leave soon, giving Dean a little time to explore the “case” before disappearing into the woods to make good on his promise to Castiel. 

Of course, no good thing could come for free. 

John cornered Dean first, while Sam excused himself from the diner table to go to the bathroom. “If you fail, boy,” John growled lowly, “It’s gonna be the last time you go solo.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean whispered, a pit forming in his stomach. He didn’t particularly love that he’d staked his freedom on this venture, but what other choice did he have? As an adult, Dean knew that he and Sam could feasibly leave their father, but where would they go? And what would happen if the yellow glow around Sam got worse? As horrible as the thought was, Dean knew he would never be able to kill his brother, even if Sam went rogue. John...well, John could. 

“And you know if there are any deaths because of this so called ‘hunt’ of yours,” John added, “Then their blood is on your hands.”

With a surge of horror, Dean realized John  _ expected _ it to be an arson case. He expected Dean to come back empty handed. And when Dean did, it would be all too easy to blame Dean for other supernatural deaths that had occurred due to his fool’s errand. It wasn’t an opportunity. It was a message: don’t overestimate his own power. 

Deep down, Dean knew he shouldn’t feel responsible for every supernatural death. It was too much for one family to tackle. Still, John had always insisted they had an added responsibility to protect those in need, since their family was one of the few that knew about the existence (and potential eradication) of monsters. And it wasn’t hard for Dean to feel guilty. He carried the weight of all those he couldn’t save, to the point where it almost suffocated him at night. Thank goodness for Castiel, whose very presence seemed to give Dean the opportunity to set his guilt to the side. Never down, Dean never lost that feeling completely, but with Castiel he felt at peace.

He let the guilt and fear weigh on him while they returned to the motel room. While John went to the lobby to buy a few more nights for Dean (Dean couldn’t just say he didn’t need them), Sam confronted Dean too. “You owe me,” Sam whispered, his hazel eyes deadly serious, “Big time.”

“‘Course,” Dean mumbled. What didn’t he owe Sam these days? 

“I mean it,” Sam insisted, “You’re not the only one with secrets.”

“Who says I have secrets?” Dean snapped, heart hammering. He didn’t know what was more surprising, Sam having secrets or knowing Dean did too. Sam couldn’t actually know about Cas, right?

“Because you’re doing this without me,” a flash of hurt crossed Sam’s face, they had never chosen to split up before, but he tightened his jaw. It was scary how quickly Sam scrubbed the emotion from his face. “Do you know how fast I had to think to get your excuse by Dad?”

“I know,” Dean ran a hand through his hair, “Nice lie, by the way.”

“I just ran a search on arson cases,” Sam shrugged. “That one seemed like it would fit.”

Well, that was convenient. Dean hated to be thankful for multiple arsons, but having two similar crimes certainly improved his argument that it was a supernatural case. Thank goodness for good luck and Sam’s quick thinking. “I can even give you ideas,” Sam continued slowly, “So our stories line up about what killed them...but when I need a favor, you  _ have _ to deliver.”

“When haven’t I?”

“Stanford?”

Ouch. Dean felt like the wind had been knocked out of him. They rarely spoke about The Incident, and when they did, it wasn’t during...whatever  _ this _ was. Dean looked up, expecting to see Sam’s sad puppy eyes, but to his astonishment, Sam was still as blank-faced as before. It felt, briefly, like Sam was using Dean’s regret against him, callously manipulating him, but then Sam softened slightly. “That was low, huh?”

“You must really want that favor,” Dean sighed, trying to ignore the additional surge of self-loathing that came at the reminder that his cowardice had robbed both him and Sam of a better life. Even if they both ran now, nothing would erase the wounds left by the past.

Besides, now there was something wrong with Sam. Something Dean needed to fix.

And there was also Castiel.

Although Dean felt guilty even thinking it, he occasionally considered just running away to Castiel. Just him. Not Sam. Even now, gearing up to leave Sam alone with their Dad for two days, Dean couldn’t help but feel the tiniest bit excited that he would be spending two interrupted days with a friend. So, yes, there were plenty of things complicating the decision to run away.

The goodbyes were terse. John clapped him on the shoulder, told him not to fail, and then left without a backwards glance. Sam, on the other hand, watched Dean from the window, but his expression was steely and determined. Dean didn’t even want to imagine the dynamics between the two of them now that he wasn’t there to soften the rough edges and take the blame. 

Once he was alone, Dean first turned to preparing to travel. The most important order of business, of course, was his adder stone. After that came the more logistical plans. Castiel had proved he could provide adequate bedding, but Dean’s fae book warned against eating anything offered by a fae. He packed a small backpack with granola bars, apples, nuts, and two cans of beef stew. Hopefully there would be a fire there, otherwise beef stew would be downright sad, but Dean would take sad canned soup over simply subsisting on granola bars. He also packed a water bottle and small pump to ensure the water wasn’t contaminated. Then came the weapons: his favorite pistol, two knives, an entire container of salt and, Dean’s new favorite after losing the cross, a set of iron brass knuckles. 

Dean might have trusted Castiel, but if other fae were involved, he had to be prepared to make a hasty retreat if necessary.

Next, to prepare himself for John, Dean dug into research on his arson case. The missing person, a young woman named Ava Wilson, had no prior convictions. At age 18, she’d moved to Massachusetts to play university soccer. From the looks of things, she’d been fairly extraordinary, but she dropped out the year before to return home in order to care for her sick father. Since then, she’d dropped off the radar...until the fire and disappearance.

To further boost his story, though it seemed plenty clear that Ava had lit the house on fire and ran, Dean did some investigating. The Wilsons had lived on the outskirts of town, and their house had managed to burn quite a bit before someone could douse it. Peering over the police tape that roped off the area, Dean scanned the area for clues. Half the home had crumbled in, unable to support the weight of the roof above. Ash coated the interior and exterior. 

When a policeman arrived to once again survey the scene, Dean asked about the start of the blaze. The policeman shrugged. “Started in the master bedroom,” he said, “We think someone knocked over a candle or something.”

“What happened to the family?”

“Died in their sleep, we think,” the policeman replied, snapping photographs of the exterior, “But it’s hard to tell.”

“Do you think Ava did it?”

The policeman snorted. “You and half the news outlets that reached out to our department asked the same damn question. What has happened to this country? A family is dead. Let their relatives mourn in peace.”

His tone wasn’t too friendly and Dean figured he’d probably overstayed his welcome. Not a moment too soon, either, because the sun was setting and Dean knew he had to get going in order to rendezvous with Castiel on time. After one final text to Sam, updating him on what he’d learned about the fire, Dean made his way into a forest. By now, the leaves were gone, and the forest looked stripped bare. Before Castiel, Dean would have called it intimidating, but now it just seemed serene, as though suspended in time. 

Dean’s footsteps were the only thing he could hear, his breath puffing in front of him in soft clouds as the sun descended. It was almost nightfall when Dean found a stream, and he wandered along its banks for what seemed like miles. There was no Castiel, but the solitude was unusually pleasant. Dean didn’t often like being alone, it meant being alone with his  _ thoughts _ , but wandering the forest ended up being a mindless activity. He could practically feel the worries, like John’s anger and Sam’s demands, melting away into the cold. So he wandered, for minutes or hours or days, it was hard to tell, until finally,  _ blessedly _ , there was Castiel. 

The fae was frowning, peering into the stream as he tried to straighten his crown. Winter had changed Castiel’s crown. The wood was darker, and it was adorned with small polished pebbles, blue and pale grey; the crown wasn’t anything special, but on Castiel’s brow, it seemed almost regal. When Castiel looked up and caught Dean’s eyes, his hands slipped, and it tumbled from his head into the creek.

With a laugh, Dean jogged to Castiel’s side, kneeling to help fish the crown from the water. He set the dripping crown atop Castiel’s thick hair, situating it so it was straight and would not fall. “Not skilled at putting on crowns?” Dean asked, desperately trying to diffuse what he only just realized was a strangely intimate moment.

Castiel huffed a laugh. “Not skilled at putting on  _ anything _ ,” he replied with a wry grin. “I have invested too much time protecting my realm to get caught up in the minutia of proper dressing.”

Well, that explained Castiel’s constant bedhead. Dean frowned thoughtfully, staring at Castiel’s hair as he realized he had no idea if fae slept or not. Castiel looked away, pushing to his feet. “I am glad you are here,” Castiel said hastily, “Although I hoped to be more prepared for your arrival...I was distracted by a far more interesting crow earlier.”

He tugged on one of the knots in his long cream robe and it tumbled from his shoulders to the forest floor. The fae had nothing on underneath. Dean may have only caught a glimpse of Castiel’s backside, but it was enough to realize just how toned the fae was. That robe had done him little favors and Dean realized, to his absolute embarrassment, that if Castiel had been human, he would have been turned on.

(Okay, maybe he was the tiniest bit turned on anyway. But who wouldn’t be?)

When Castiel turned, he caught Dean’s eye. “One moment,” he said, waving his hand in a complicated gesture. 

To Dean’s surprise, a dark blue fabric began to appear, climbing up Castiel’s body in a way that looked almost cartoonish. Other fabrics appeared, and in the blink of an eye, Castiel was dressed. He wore a suit, a modern one, although Castiel’s was a deep blue. His tie was a stormy grey and it almost moved within the fabric, like clouds before rain. He still wore his crown and his feet were bare. The whole sight should have been strange and disconcerting, but Castiel looked...well, he looked good.

At least, he did until he waved his hand in another motion that resulted in all of Dean’s clothes appearing on the forest floor. 

Dean squeaked indignantly, immediately moving to shield himself. “Oi!” he snapped, “The hell, dude?”

Castiel ignored him, though his eyes travelled the length of Dean’s body in a way that made Dean blush. The dude was so intense sometimes. Then, before Dean could make another comment about whether or not Cas should be checking him out (the verdict was...surprisingly complicated), the fae waved his hand again. When Dean looked down, fabric was appearing on  _ his _ body. It was soft, more comfortable than the suits he’d don to impersonate FBI agents, and a striking dark green, like pine needles. The shirt was white, like Castiel’s, and his tie was the same grey as Castiel’s. Dean also noticed, when he looked down, that he, too, was barefoot, but he couldn’t feel the discomfort of the forest floor. Fae magic, probably.

“What’s with the digs, dude?” Dean asked, torn between staring at his own suit, or admiring the way Castiel’s was far more fitted than his usual robe.

“I...have not dug anything,” Castiel cocked his head.

Right, right. The guy might be powerful enough to conjure up magic clothes, but he hadn’t been around humans in forever. “What’s with the clothes?” Dean amended.

“Every year, as is tradition, the fae gather for the Winter Solstice.”

“I  _ knew it! _ ” Dean exclaimed. He couldn’t help it.

“How do you know of the Winter Festival?” Castiel narrowed his eyes, “Do you know more fae? I  _ did _ think you had that aura when you first--”

“Nah,” Dean brushed him off, “It was just a guess. Fae don’t have a monopoly on the Winter Solstice, y’know.”

“Oh. I see,” Castiel paused, then smiled, “You are very resourceful, Briar.”

Dean didn’t mind Castiel being proud of him, feeling a warmth spread through his chest as he caught Cas’ eye. “So, what’s the deal with these modern suits?”

Castiel sighed. “Every year, by consensus, we decide on the apparel of the following year’s gathering. Just be glad it was not a human garment known as a bikini. I did not know what that was until Gabriel suggested it.”

Oh gosh. Dean wasn’t sure if he could have survived a fae party in nothing but a bikini and found himself infinitely grateful to whichever fae (probably Cas) opposed that idea. “And what do you do in this gathering?” Dean pressed. 

“Imbibe copious amounts of alcohol, mostly,” Castiel shrugged, “There is a lot of eating and drinking and general merriment.”

“Can you even  _ do _ general merriment?” Dean asked with a grin.

Castiel looked like he’d bitten into a crabapple. “ _ I _ will be taking advantage of the situation by dealing with some unfinished business.”

“So you’ve decided to go to some big party to...not party.” Yeah, that sounded about like the fae Dean had come to know. Castiel was intent, careful and kind, but socializing didn’t exactly seem high on his agenda. “Okay. Why bring me along, then?”

At this, Castiel tucked his head and Dean had the oddest feeling that if he peered through his adder stone, Castiel’s wings would be curled around himself. “I...might have...exaggerated my connection humans.”

“Meaning?”

“A few fae believe I have bound a human.”

“And you need me here to keep up the ruse,” Dean surmised. Castiel started to apologize, but Dean waved him off. “It’s all good, dude. Much more chill than anything I was imagining.”

“I fear what that might have been.”

“Human sacrifice, mostly. Or an orgy.”

Okay, fine, Dean didn’t  _ actually _ think there was gonna be an orgy, but seeing the absolutely scandalized expression on Castiel’s face was worth it.

“Was my word not enough?” Castiel questioned somberly, “I thought you would know you would be safe.”

Ouch. Dean felt a twinge of guilt. Castiel didn’t get the joke, which should have been even funnier, but the fae was so stupidly  _ earnest _ about everything that Dean found himself saying, “It’s fine, seriously. A hunter’s life, ya know? Makes you expect the worst in everyone.”

“I am sorry for that, Briar,” Castiel clasped a warm hand to Dean’s shoulder, “But when you are under  _ my _ protection, no harm will come to you.”

Dean didn’t like how his heart leapt at that phrase. He especially didn’t like how the rest of him seemed to relax either. He shouldn’t be so pleased that Castiel had basically laid claim on him. Unintentionally, of course, but there was something strangely pleasant about knowing Castiel would go out of his way to protect Dean, a mere human who wouldn’t even bind himself to Castiel. So, instead, Dean stuttered an awkward “thanks,” and pulled out of Castiel’s grasp.

He caught sight of his backpack on the forest floor and thanked every known deity for a reasonable distraction. “I’m gonna need this,” he said, picking the bag off the ground. 

“You will not,” Castiel insisted, “I can change your clothes and create a wonderful space for you to rest--”

“I need to eat, dude,” Dean insisted, “And I can’t exactly eat whatever they’re serving.”

“You have done your research,” Castiel smiled again, that expression of pride in Dean’s accomplishments. Dean hated how his heart skipped a beat. John was so rarely proud of Dean, yet the fae seemed to reveal in even minor accomplishments. Castiel turned his gaze to the backpack with a tilt of his head. “This should work,” Castiel waved a hand and Dean’s backpack shrunk and shifted until it was a small leather pouch in his hand. 

“I...I needed the food in there.”

“All of the contents of your knapsack reside within the pouch.”

Dean reached in tentatively and found, to his surprise, that he could fit his entire arm into the small leather pouch. Sure enough, he could feel the contents bumping around. A granola bar here, a pistol there, with enough spare room to fit plenty more. “This is awesome,” Dean tugged his arm out, tucking the pouch into his pocket. 

“Good. Are you ready to go?”

“Go where?” 

“The festival resides in the fae realm,” Castiel replied, like it was an obvious answer.

Dean frowned. “Thought we were already in the fae realm.”

“We are in  _ my _ realm,” Castiel explained, “Which lies between the human world and the world of the fae. To get to the fae realm, we must pass through mine, just as fae must pass through their own realms to access Earth.”

“Naturally.”

Castiel nodded. “So to make it to the festival, we must first travel to the outer limits of my realm.” He paused, “Are you ready, Briar?”

A magical journey with a new friend (who may or may not be stupidly attractive)? Dean nearly laughed at just how unbelievable it sounded. Even more unbelievable was the thought that he might just be _ happy _ on this trip. Dean had two days with Castiel before he had to face real world consequences...might as well make the most of them. Dean walked to Castiel’s side with a grin.

 

“Hell yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As finals approach, here's hoping I can keep this pace.


	8. Transit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry, y'all. It's been a rough week, so this update is both late and short.

_ “Give to these children, new from the world, / Silence and love; / And the long dew-dropping hours of the night, / And the stars above” --W.B. Yeats _

 

Castiel’s realm was bigger than Dean expected. Well, that or the whole fae magic was making the journey seem longer than it ought to have been. It didn’t help that they kept passing through different forests. Within the blink of an eye, Dean would cross from winter pines to lush rainforests. Although he seemed to be protected from the elements by Castiel’s magic, it didn’t change the instinctive flinch of surprise. With each passing step, Dean grew closer to asking the age-old question: are we there yet?

Still, glancing at Castiel made Dean less than eager to come across as a petulant child; the fae was downright regal in his deep blue tux. Really, this shouldn’t have fazed Dean at all. Castiel was a fae, he had  _ always _ been a step above Dean, but for whatever reason, Dean had stopped thinking of the fae as an otherworldly creature. Sure enough, Castiel himself shattered the illusion when he proudly displayed a colorful butterfly on the tip of his index finger.

“They are usually friendly,” Castiel explained, “Most see their beauty as far above mine--” he cocked his head as though listening to the butterfly, “--as you should think, Isabella. Your wings are far more lovely than mine.”

Dean was strangely tempted to protest. He’d seen Castiel’s wings and they were magnificent. But it didn’t seem like...well, it sure didn’t seem like a thing  _ friends _ would do, so instead, Dean just said, “Isabella?”

“The butterfly. She stopped to tell me she likes the color of my eyes.”

“Yeah,” Dean laughed, “I dunno how anyone could not like your eyes.”

“You like my eyes?”

_ Shit _ . Dean kept walking, avoiding glancing at Castiel as he stalled for an excuse. He wasn’t into Cas, obviously.  _ Obviously _ . Dean hadn’t had a dumb crush since he was a teenager and he was plenty happy keeping it that way. Not that this was a crush. It was just one bro telling his other bro that he had nice eyes. That wasn’t gay, right? It was just an observation. Friends had observations.

“Doesn’t everyone?”

“I do not know,” Castiel mused from behind Dean, “Though I suppose I could ask Isabella to rally her friends if we need more opinions.”

“No, no,” Dean stopped short. “I think you can just take my word that everyone likes your eyes.”

When he finally brought himself to glance back at Castiel, Dean caught sight of the fae smiling ever so slightly. The fae murmured something to the butterfly, then extended a hand as it flew away. With quick strides, Castiel caught up to Dean’s side, blue eyes sparkling. “It seems Isabella thought your eyes were nice as well,” he said before his pace overtook Dean’s, forcing Dean to follow at a slight jog.

Castiel eventually slowed his pace, but the forests continued, leaving Dean to get lost in thought. He wondered what Sam would think, or John, or... _ Mom _ , for that reason. In all of his visits with Castiel, Dean had forgotten that the reason they avoided mentioning fae at all was because Mary disappeared with one. And then a thought, a horrible, wonderful thought, sunk into Dean’s chest.

“How long do humans survive with a fae?”

Dean nearly ran into Castiel, who stopped suddenly. “Why do you ask?” the fae asked, the lines around Castiel’s eyes drawn tight.

“Just...curious.”

Castiel continued walking, but didn’t speak. Dean had decided the whole thing had been a worthless venture–why would a fae share secrets with a human–when Castiel spoke. “It depends on the fae.”

When Dean didn’t speak, Castiel continued. “Some fae will preserve the lives of their bound. I know of bound humans who have remained in perfect health for centuries. Others do nothing, allowing their humans to pass on naturally. They believe it to be merciful, to allow their charges to join their families in the hereafter.”

“They always live?” Dean asked quietly, hoping beyond hope. After all, Mary wasn’t that old when she disappeared, if she’d been taken, maybe--

“No,” Castiel bowed his head. “There are a faction of fae…” he took a deep breath, shaking his head, “They are rare. We oppose them.”

“What do they do?” Dean couldn’t help but feel as though he already knew.

“A human heart is a powerful thing,” Castiel wouldn’t look at Dean now. “And a few among us discovered they can be used.”

“So they rip human’s hearts out?”

“Not exactly.” Castiel’s blue eyes were hard as steel, “But humans do not survive the process. And while the heart provides power to the fae’s realm, it’s...corrupted.”

The air around them seemed to chill at the words; for the first time since journeying in Castiel’s realm, Dean’s suit did not seem sufficient to keep him warm. He’d always thought of fae as indiscriminately evil. They stole humans away from their homes, after all. But now it seemed that most were just out of touch with humanity while a few were...horrifying. Most monsters Dean ran into did what they did because they saw no other choice. Werewolves were taken over by animal urges, vampires had to drink or they’d starve, but an immortal fae had no business tearing out human hearts.

What side was Castiel on?

In a moment of panic, Dean dug through his bag, searching for something to protect him. His fingers curled around the hilt of his hunting knife.

“Briar?” Castiel came closer to Dean, his arm outstretched. “Are you okay?”

Dean acted out of instinct, plunging the blade into Castiel’s chest. 

Castiel’s chest still rose and fell calmly, though blood soaked into his suit. As the air warmed, Dean realized what he’d done. This wasn’t any fae, it was  _ Cas _ , and he’d just stabbed him without hesitation. Dean looked into Castiel’s eyes, certain he’d see fury, but to his surprise, Castiel simply looked worried.

“Are you okay, Briar?” Castiel asked again, “I should not have spoken so bluntly.”

“I just...stabbed you…” Dean whispered, slightly dizzy, his fingers still clenching the knife.

Castiel glanced down, surprised at the unusual protrusion. “So you did,” he replied calmly. He wrapped his fingers around Dean’s, the warmth of his palm soothing, and helped Dean pull the blade out. The noise was sickening. Dean felt darkness creep into his peripheries and he berated himself for being so weak. Sam wouldn’t have passed out. Then again, Sam probably would have murdered the fae by now.

As Dean felt his knees buckle, Castiel caught him, guiding him gently to the ground. He held Dean’s head in his hands and leaned him against his chest. “I apologize,” Castiel said, as though he’d been the one to stab Dean, “It would be very natural to assume, with your background of hunting, that I was one of those who sought to take your heart.”

“Aren’t you dying?”

Castiel smiled wanly, waving a hand over his suit. The blood vanished. “Your knife was not made of iron.”

Exhausted from the wave of adrenaline, Dean allowed himself to rest against Castiel’s chest. He knew he should feel guilty, but all Dean really felt was shock. How was it so ingrained in him to kill that he’d almost murdered a friend? Worst, Castiel seemed more worried about  _ Dean _ , which he absolutely didn’t deserve. 

Eventually, Castiel looped Dean’s arm across his shoulder, helping Dean to his feet. The gesture was so friendly that Dean felt another wave of guilt threaten to overcome him, but he ignored it. The last thing Dean needed in his life was any more guilt than he was already carrying. 

They walked together in silence for a while, which was only punctuated occasionally by the babbling of whatever stream they happened to be next to. The forests still changed and Dean had to wonder, would they have to pass through all the forests in Castiel’s realm to get to the main fae realm? 

“Was there a reason you asked?” Castiel asked after a while, “About the human lifespans?”

Dean hesitated. The last thing he wanted to do was to share more information with the fae. While he trusted Castiel, there was no telling what could come of sharing his information. Maybe, like it or not, Castiel would own his soul or something. Then again, Castiel didn’t seem the sneaky type. And now, realizing for the first time that he had someone who might actually be able to give him information about his mother’s disappearance, Dean found he desperately wanted answers.

“My mother disappeared with a fae,” Dean said in a rush, as though he might lose his nerve partway through the sentence. 

“Oh.” 

“I was four...she just...wandered into the forest and never came out,” Dean’s lower lip wobbled and he silently cursed the swell of emotion. Damn it. No wonder they never talked about her, the very act of speaking her disappearance aloud had him on the verge of tears. 

“I am sorry, Briar,” Castiel laid a gentle hand on Dean’s shoulder. “That must have been very difficult.”

“Do you think she’s alive?”

Castiel’s brow furrowed, lips tightening. “It would depend on when she disappeared.”

“Twenty one years ago.”

A flash of worry crossed Castiel’s face, but it was gone so quickly that Dean wasn’t sure if he had imagined it. The fae started walking faster, picking up a pace that was faster than it looked. “She might be alive,” Castiel said, though his tone was doubtful. 

“ _ Might? _ ”

“I told you,” Castiel’s voice was strained, “It depends on the fae.”

“Well, maybe you know them!” Dean burst out. Losing his mom had hurt, of course, but there was even more painful urgency at the thought that she could still be alive. He could still see her. Talk to her...even hug her. The sensation of  _ maybe _ burned through Dean’s entire body, filling his hands and feet with fire. “Her name is Mary W--”

Castiel slapped his hand over Dean’s mouth before Dean could finish. “Names are powerful,” Castiel growled, glancing around his realm with worry. “You shouldn’t speak them so freely.”

He held his hand, warm and calloused, to Dean’s face another moment before letting go, watching Dean warily. “I swore an oath not to steal your name from your lips, but other fae won’t be so kind.”

“We’re not in that realm yet!” Dean protested, kicking a stray stone. 

“But we will soon!” Castiel snarled. His eyes grew cold and a shadow fell over the forest. For the first time, Dean was well and truly terrified of the fae. In their early days, Castiel had seemed suspicious, but never like this; never a warrior. Now, it seemed like if pushed, Castiel could fight back. And win. “And I cannot watch out for you the entire time.”

At those words, the shadow retracted, Castiel’s shoulders slumped, and just like that, he was back to normal.

“You wouldn’t have to worry about me if you let me in on your plan,” Dean said quietly. 

“I believe I would always worry about you,” Castiel replied. It was an off-handed comment, but it struck Dean to his core. Nobody regularly worried for him. Once again, Dean couldn’t help but feel slightly bad. In the journey to the fae realm alone he’d already back-talked the fae, shouted at him and stabbed him in the chest. Dean couldn’t quite imagine any bound humans doing that to their fae. No wonder Castiel was worried about them getting caught. 

“But you are right,” Castiel sighed, “You ought to be at least somewhat aware. Your role in this is to remove suspicion from me. I...do not often leave my own realm. My presence will surely turn some heads. But if you are by my side--”

“--people will think you’re showing me off,” Dean surmised. “What do you need me to do? Be your fake servant? Fake lover?”

Castiel averted his gaze. “Simply companion would be fine. Stand by my side for a time, nod at my words...that...should be sufficient, right?”

“Why are you asking me?”

“My people skills are rusty.”

Dean swallowed a laugh. “I mean, just because mine are decent doesn’t make me an expert on fae culture.”

“Of course,” Castiel nodded gravely, “That should have been obvious from the beginning.”

“We’ll play it by ear,” Dean suggested, “I can think on my feet.”

“I do not understand any of your anatomical references...” Castiel trailed off with a frown. He reached out a hand to the open air, then, to Dean’s surprise, pressed his fingers along an invisible wall. At Castiel’s touch, a white light extended, first up, then across, then back down, until the glowing form of a doorway appeared.

The fae turned, extending his other hand to Dean, who took it. “Keep your guard up, Briar. We have arrived at the fae realm.”

Castiel pushed forward and the invisible door swung open to reveal an entire entryway of glowing light. Dean hesitated for a moment. Beyond him lay a realm both unknown and highly dangerous. But it could also hold answers about his mom. And Castiel needed his help.

With a gentle squeeze of reassurance from Castiel, Dean stepped forward into the doorway of light.


	9. Aglow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo hoo! Wasn't sure if I'd get this done during finals season, but here we are! Thanks to what I imagine are my 3 devoted readers.

“ _ For everything that’s lovely is / But a brief, dreamy, kind delight.” -- W.B Yeats _

 

The first thing Dean was aware of as he blinked back the brightness was color. The fae realm was filled to the brim with colors more vibrant and rich than Dean had ever seen. A path of shimmering silver lead the way into a courtyard lined with trees that seemed to span all four seasons, their colors ranging from emerald to ruby. There was more, much more, beyond the trees, though Dean could not discern anything through the branches. In the center of the courtyard was a gorgeous fountain, a sparkling spout of water rising up like a glittering Old Faithful that filled a large pool. Four small streams emerged from the pool and ran in opposing directions, like a compass. Gold platters of food and drink floated lazily, as if held aloft by a cloud.

But even more shocking was the crowd. Some fae, like Castiel, kept a more human form, but others let their wings manifest. The range was incredible, there were feathered wings and leathery, small and large, and dozens of colors and color combinations. In this crowd, Castiel’s wings would have easily been considered understated. (Although Dean was still partial to them.)

Likewise, the clothes were equally colorful. Everyone wore a suit, even the female fae, leaving Dean to wonder if they cared at all about human concepts of gender. The suits came in all sorts of fits and fabrics; denim, flannel, sagging, tight...clearly there were different standards of beauty at play.

But most shocking, even more than the strangely fitted clothes or wings, was the humans. Dean didn’t need an adder stone to discern the humans from their fae companions. Most looked dazed, sparing only an expression of awe for the fae they were bound to. He watched one male fae gently tip a silver cup of wine into the mouth of a human who wore the same color suit. It was...off-putting. Even though many fae seemed to be gentle to their humans, there was a sense that humans were considered to be at a different level than their fae companions. 

Dean’s train of thought was interrupted, however, by another fae.

Upon closer examination, the female fae, who wore a suit so grey it was almost white, appeared to be Hannah, the fae he’d seen conversing with Castiel. She also wore a crown, though hers was made of twisted aspen branches, a dark sapphire in the center. Her brown hair was swept up into an elaborate braid, but her face was tight, mouth twisted into a frown. “ _ There _ you are,” she hissed, “The sun is almost up, I had almost given up hope you were coming. The others--”

“--others?” Castiel snapped, furtively glancing around the general merriment to tug Hannah to the edge of the courtyard, near the autumn trees. Dean followed slightly behind the two, hoping he looked just as dazed as the other humans. “Who else?”

“The usual,” Hannah shrugged, “Gadreel, Benjamin, Gilda…” she paused thoughtfully, adding, “Samandriel has mentioned interest.”

“ _ Samandriel _ ?” Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose, “He is practically a child.”

“Old enough to join the cause.”

“There is no cause,” Castiel growled, “At least, not one that involves me.”

“You’re our leader!” Hannah’s voice raised slightly. They all glanced back to the crowd, who chatted merrily. One fae had taken to a show of magic, and many had turned to watch in interest. 

“ _ Was _ ,” Castiel corrected.

Hannah huffed, actually stamping a bare foot on the silver pathway. “You know as well as I do that The Order won’t--” her eyes caught Dean’s gaze and she stopped short, mouth gaping. Hannah glanced from Dean to Castiel, then back again. 

“You’ve got yourself a human.” Her tone was almost accusatory.

“Of sorts.” Castiel gestured for Dean to better join their circle. Hesitantly, Dean obeyed, unsure what, if anything, he should be doing. Nervously, Dean bowed. That seemed like it might fit in with this fae world.

It didn’t. Hannah pursed her lips, tilting her head in a gesture similar to Castiel’s. “Unbound?” she asked Castiel, who nodded. Hannah smiled fondly. “Even when you are not actively rebelling, you still manage to find ways to bend the rules.” Turning to address Dean, she added, “The Bonded do not bow, unless ordered. Do not look another fae in the eye, stay close to Castiel unless openly commanded otherwise and engage in the occasional act of physical affection.”

Both Castiel and Dean blushed at those words.

“He intended to pose as a servant,” Castiel tried to explain, but Hannah cut him off.

“You returning to this realm with a human lover offers an immense distraction,” Hannah glanced around, dropping her voice so low Dean had to strain to hear, “There is talk that some in The Order might have joined  _ his _ cause. If we are caught...”

Castiel nodded gravely, but his eyes were full of worry when he turned to Dean. “Is this something you are comfortable with?”

“Castiel, this is too dangerous a matter to consult with a human--”

“Is this something you are comfortable with?” Castiel simply repeated; Dean was struck by the kindness in the gesture. A twinge of guilt ran through him at the thought of stabbing Castiel in the chest. More and more, Castiel consistently proved he was kinder than the fae...and most humans.

“I don’t mind,” Dean replied, suddenly oddly jittery. He couldn’t tell if it was from the threat of danger or the thought of posing as Castiel’s lover and honestly, he wouldn’t want to admit to either.

Castiel nodded, relieved. “Then we should rejoin the fray. I apologize in advance for the attention that will likely follow us.” He turned back to Hannah once more, “In the meantime, I want to know what you discover.”

“So you are joining us?”

“Just claiming what will be owed to me,” Castiel shrugged. He reached out a hand, gently pressing it to the small of Dean’s back. “Come, Briar. We must….” he grimaced, “Socialize.”

In that moment, the dazed expression of the humans made sense. Dean could barely focus on anything besides Castiel’s firm hand against his back. Damn it. That was no way to think about a friend. Gritting his teeth, Dean tried to remain sharp and focused, scanning the crowd for...well, he wasn’t exactly sure  _ what _ . The cryptic conversation between Castiel and Hannah had certainly implied danger, though, so Dean wasn’t about to let his guard down.

Castiel moved ahead of Dean, leaving him to weave through fae wings and floating trays, trying to keep up with Castiel’s unexpected grace. While Dean caught a faceful of feathers and knocked shoulders with at least three guests, Castiel continued on, untouched and unfazed. It was kinda cool, if Dean was being honest, though he also wanted to knock Cas upside the head and explain he didn’t move like a fae.

Dean nearly laughed out loud at the thought. Of all the directions for his life to go, admonishing a fae with friendly banter was never one he expected.

His smile disappeared when another fae reached out and stopped him short. Remembering Hannah’s advice, Dean tried to keep his gaze level, so he could not see the face of the fae, just the suit. And what a suit it was, golden and shimmering as though the threads themselves were coated in gold leaf. They probably  _ were _ , judging by the rest of the courtyard.

“Doth mine eyes deceive me?” the fae’s voice was lilting, light, “Castiel has gotten himself a  _ human?” _

“Yes, Balthazar,” Castiel’s voice, usually so commanding and powerful, was oddly stiff. “He is my...lover.” Dean nearly toppled over as Castiel planted an awkward kiss to the top of his head. Castiel was, without a doubt, one of the worst liars Dean had ever encountered. Skilled in magic? Probably. A gifted warrior? Dean was starting to expect as much. But apparently in the field of fake dating, Castiel was woefully ignorant.

Dean had done the fake dating thing a few times, usually to get girls out of tough situations. Plus, he’d done the one night stand thing more times than he could count. Judging by how Castiel was interacting, Dean wasn’t even sure if Castiel had engaged in any romantic or sexual relationship with anyone. Possibly ever.

To try to remedy this, Dean drifted closer to Castiel, wrapping a tentative arm around Castiel’s waist. The fae twitched in surprise, shooting a glance in Dean’s direction, before reciprocating with a head pat. It was debatably worse than the head kiss. Unable to look at Gabriel’s expression, however, Dean had absolutely no idea if other fae would take this as adequate lover behavior.

“Oh, Cassie,” Balthazar laughed, “You always were a strange one.”

Castiel stiffened and Dean instinctively rubbed soothing circles on his back. He tried, quite heroically no less, to avoid noticing just how toned Castiel was. Life was not fair.

“You really ought to learn how to lighten up,” Balthazar said, plucking a golden goblet from a floating tray, handing it to Castiel. Dean peeked into the inside, where a rich purple liquid sloshed around the sides. Castiel considered it hesitantly, then downed the entire contents in a single gulp. 

Balthazar laughed. “I ought to get going. There’s a few people I’ve been meaning to meet up with...Ariel promised me their stories about enchanting in a strip club that sound downright  _ filthy _ .” With that, he turned to leave. To Dean’s horror, a dazed man followed, a thin gold leash around his throat.

Castiel moved out of Dean’s touch, then reached down to grip Dean’s hand in his own. The fae squeezed, his grip strong and reassuring. “That won’t happen to you,” Castiel whispered lowly, his lips nearly against Dean’s ear. Dean shivered. “I will protect you.”

They wandered the crowd, Castiel not releasing Dean’s hand. Dean didn’t mind. The more Castiel talked with fae and Dean observed their enchanted humans, the more Dean realized what a rare kindness Castiel had bestowed on him. Castiel had sworn to never steal Dean’s name, to never exert dominion over him. How many of the fae could say the same? Dean shivered to think of how different his life might have been if he had met another fae in that forest in West Virginia.

Time was fluid, stretching and bending in ways that Dean had grown accustomed to. If someone had told him he had spent a week in the company of the fae, he would have believed them. Just as Hannah had suggested, most of Dean’s duty was in maintaining the ruse that they were lovers. He only caught snippets of conversations and had no idea if Castiel was discovering anything he’d come to find. Instead, Dean busied himself with hand holding, back rubbing, the occasional kiss to the cheek, which always left both of them blushing furiously. 

Dean didn’t love how easily all of these actions came to him, but he rationalized it was just survival tactics. Just to friends trying to avoid suspicion. 

He also spent his time on the lookout for Mary. Castiel hadn’t outrightly said she was dead, so she could still be here. Alive. Healthy. A thrall of a fae. That last thought was sobering, but Dean was certain if he found her, he could save her. (Although, Dean realized with a pang of sorrow, he wasn’t entirely sure he could recognize her anymore.)

But there was no sign of Mary. And nothing that sounded like important information for Castiel. 

Dean was snapped out of his tired stupor by the ringing of a bell. The tone was clear and it sounded so perfect that Dean nearly burst into tears at the sound. Something about the fae realm was more than Dean could possibly imagine on Earth. As he looked around to locate the bell, Dean realized that the sun was setting. A golden glow filled the courtyard, lighting the fountain in such a way that if Dean didn’t know any better, he’d say it looked like Heaven. 

“I have to go now,” Castiel whispered, his lips once again far too close to Dean’s ear.

Panic surged through Dean. He’d only survived this long with Castiel by his side. “Why?”

“The celebration is only part of our gathering during the solstice,” Castiel replied grimly, “There is a ritual to be done.”

“A  _ what? _ ” Dean yelped. Several heads turned in their direction and Castiel clapped a hand over Dean’s mouth.

“Forgive my human,” Castiel said loudly, “We were just discussing our...future...love-making.”

A few fae nodded approvingly and went back to their conversations. Dean barked a laugh in Castiel’s hand, though it ended abruptly at the traitorous thought of what “love-making” with Cas would look like.

“There are protective spells that must be renewed,” Castiel resumed his whisper, “You will remain with the other humans.” He paused, then added, “I had hoped you might…”

“Try to get information?” 

Castiel nodded, watching Dean nervously. The bell tolled a second time and once again, Dean felt tears spring into his eyes, unbidden. “I’ll do it.”

The fae gave his hand another squeeze, hesitated, then lifted Dean’s palm to his lips, pressing a kiss to Dean’s hand. It was the single legitimately romantic thing Castiel had done all evening and Dean nearly fell over. “I’ll return to your side as soon as I can, Briar,” Castiel said, then turned to follow the fae, who were travelling from the courtyard and into the surrounding forests. Dean watched Castiel until he was obscured by the crowd.

The bell rang again. Dean felt an oddly profound sense of loss.

Drying the wetness around his eyes with the sleeve of his suit, Dean took one deep breath to compose himself, one deep breath to push away any of the strange sadness that accompanied the thought of Castiel leaving him alone. With that, he surveyed the courtyard. Some humans stared, despondent, into the trees. One even rocked on the ground, weeping as they moved back and forth. Most, however, wandered aimlessly. Some opted to eat from the plates that still floated around, while others ran their hands through the fountain.

None of them looked like Mary.

Pushing aside the pang of disappointment, Dean set to work. He caught sight of the man he’d seen earlier, the one in the golden leash. The young man’s hair was tugged into a messy bun and he stared at the leash as though waiting for it to move. It was, all in all, a fairly creepy sight, but Dean continued on, undaunted. He had a job to do, after all.

“Hey,” Dean said, sticking out a hand, “I’m Briar. What’s your name?”

The man stared at his hand but didn’t touch it. “I am Balthazar’s.”

“I know,” Dean prodded, “But what’s  _ your _ name?”

“I am Balthazar’s.”

“But  _ who are you? _ ” Dean asked, more urgently this time.

He nearly stumbled backwards when the man caught his gaze. There was something about the expression that filled Dean with the dread of Uncanny Valley, as though his eyes were  _ almost _ right, but there was something undefinable, but necessary, missing. “I am..” the man replied, his brow furrowing. For a moment there was silence, the man’s lip wobbled, and then in a choked whisper he finished, “...Balthazar’s.”

Horrified, Dean turned on his heel and ran. He’d always known fae were dangerous, he’d always been told the importance of holding on to his own name, but he had never quite grasped what it meant if he lost it. Losing his name meant losing himself, draining away everything that made him  _ Dean _ and filling it with...Dean wasn’t even sure. He understood now why Castiel had been so stern, almost scared, when Dean tried to bring his mother’s name to light. Names were more powerful than even Dean had expected.

“Yo, Briar!”

The voice tore Dean from his panicked thought, although he yelped at the sound. He scanned the crowd, but most humans still looked fairly despondent. A hand clapped his shoulder and Dean swung his fist, stopping just short of impact. A woman with striking red hair eyed him shrewdly. Her suit was brightly colored, with a shockingly pink jacket and neon yellow pants, and she wore a tie loosely knotted. She looked into his eyes and Dean found that her eyes looked normal. Familiar. Nothing like the fae-bound eyes of the leashed man.

“Thank  _ god _ ,” she huffed after a minute, shaking Dean’s hand vigorously, “There hasn’t been a proper human here in  _ ages _ .”

“Who are you?”

“The name’s Charlie,” she said with a grin, “Well. That’s the name I’ve been using around this lot, for obvious reasons.”

“And you’re also…” Dean tried to recall what Hannah had called it, “not...Bound?”

“Kind of?” Charlie shrugged, “It’s more complicated than that, but the good news is, I’m still  _ me _ . Gilda’s great that way,” she added with a dreamy sigh. “Who brought you?”

Dean eyed Charlie nervously, still unsure what to make of her. She didn’t seem Bound, but she also seemed to be invested in her fae. Then again, Dean chided himself, he was also invested in Cas. Cas was a friend. But the name  _ Gilda _ sounded familiar. Hannah had mentioned it. Venturing out on a limb, Dean replied, “Castiel.”

“Oh, I’ve  _ heard _ of him!” Charlie beamed, “He’s the only one in the resistance I haven’t met yet!”

“Cas isn’t in the resistance,” Dean replied quickly, oddly defensive of Castiel’s position. If Castiel wanted out of that life, he deserved it. Dean knew full well how hard it was to remain in a life that brought no joy.

“Right, right,” Charlie amended, “But  _ still _ . I hear his eyes are dreamy. Are they dreamy?”

_ Only the best eyes in the entire world _ , Dean thought to himself, but instead he managed a strangled, “They’re pretty nice.”

Charlie nodded. “Do you wanna hang out? Talk about the outside world? Is Kiera Knightley still hot?” she paused, eyes widening with horror, “Is Kiera Knightley still  _ alive? _ ”

Dean laughed. He was starting to get the sense he would get along with Charlie pretty well, even if she was still an enigma. “She’s still alive,” he said, following Charlie as she wandered around the fountain, “How long have you been here?”

“Dunno,” Charlie shrugged. A platter floated past, laden with an assortment of fresh fruits. There were juicy red strawberries, round grapes shining with dew drops, ripe red pomegranates split in half, their seeds exposed. Charlie plucked one of the pomegranate halves from the platter, digging into the seeds, juice running down her fingertips. She extended a small handful to Dean, who declined.

“Suit yourself,” Charlie shrugged, downing the seeds with a small moan of pleasure.

It put Dean on guard, watching her eat enchanted food, but Charlie seemed unaffected. Hesitantly, Dean tugged a granola bar out of his pouch and the two conversed while snacking. Charlie was free about her past. She’d always been a run-away, working dangerous hack jobs in between cities. It was in a theater in D.C. where Charlie had met Gilda, whose realm was the confluence of reality and make-believe, and fallen in love. Charlie, unlike Dean, hadn’t realized what Gilda was, but hadn’t minded when she discovered it.

“Why not?” Dean gaped. The last thing he wanted was attachment like that, permanent and inescapable. 

Charlie shrugged, finishing off the last of the pomegranate seeds. “Being swept away to a magical land by my hot fairy girlfriend didn’t seem like a bad option.”

“Do you regret it?”

“Hell no,” Charlie beamed, “The only downside is that I haven’t gotten to talk to a bonafide human for ages. Gilda’s got me hooked up with some tech, and that’s  _ awesome _ , but there’s texting and there’s talking face to face, y’know?” she paused, “Wait, do you have a phone?”

Dean nodded.

Charlie squealed. “I need your number,” she said, rolling up her sleeve and dipping her fingertip in the remaining pomegranate juices. She wrote them down as Dean told her his number, blowing on the wet juice until it dried to her skin. “Don’t get me wrong,” she added, rolling down her sleeve to cover the markings, “the fae in the Resistance are legit, but…” she shrugged, “They’re not gonna get it when I go into detail about how much I want a hamburger or something.”

“Who are the resistance?” Dean asked hastily, “What have they been doing?”

Charlie glanced around furtively. “Look, there’s a lot behind the Resistance--”

A bell tolled, deeper and louder than before. Charlie quieted. “They’re done,” she said, pushing to her feet, almost distracted by the sound. The other humans looked up too. Charlie frowned. “Why is it different this time?” she murmured to herself, wandering towards the forest. Dean wanted to ask what, wanted to beg her to explain the Resistance, the Order...anything, really, but even he was distracted when he saw Castiel’s tired face in the crowd of returning fae.

Dean’s heart leapt and it took everything in his power not to race to Castiel’s side. The fae looked tired, the circles under his eyes even darker than before. How long had it been? How long had Castiel been working? Dean had no clue, though he caught Castiel as his weight sagged against Dean. 

“Thank you, Briar,” Castiel whispered, offering one of his rare smiles as Dean propped up his weight. 

“Are you okay?” Dean asked, slightly alarmed by the fact he was the only thing keeping the fae upright. “Did it go as planned?”

Castiel grimaced. “As one who does not bind humans, the solstice is always hard…” he hesitated, then added, “But something went wrong and we do not know what.” He sighed, and Dean could see the weight of centuries in his eyes, “All we know is that the protections are not complete.”


	10. Sleepless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eyyyyy coming in with another chapter! I'm sure y'all have noticed this is going unbeta'd. That's intentional, my goal for this is consistency in posting. Really trying to make Fridays a regular thing.

_ “The unfinished man and his pain / Brought face to face with his own clumsiness.” --W.B. Yeats _

 

“What does that mean?” Dean hissed, “What do you need protection from?” He couldn’t imagine the fae needed protection from humans, knowing now just how easy it seemed to be for the fae to control them. And judging by how Castiel had protected him from a vampire, all that time ago, it didn’t seem like they could be easily harmed by monsters either. Which left only an unknown entity so strong it left even the fae worried.

Castiel glanced at Dean, eyebrows raised. “It is not the human realm encroaching on our realm that we are worried about...the other way around, actually.”

Horror curled in Dean’s stomach. “What could you protect us from that is worse than yourselves?” he whispered, “The humans here...they’re not right, Cas. They’re broken. I don’t know how to describe it--”

“They are empty husks,” Castiel responded softly, “Mere vessels, to be used by their fae in whatever way they see fit,” He sighed, “I had hoped, perhaps, the presence of a true human might remind them of what they once were, but…” Castiel hung his head, growing even more limp against Dean. Whatever was needed for the ritual, it had taken a great toll on Castiel.

Dean scanned the area. A few other fae looked exhausted; Hannah was leaning against a dark-skinned fae, who propped her up with a worried expression. Still, for the most part, the fae seemed fine. Disappointed by the failure of the spell, perhaps, but not physically weakened. Their humans, on the other hand, seemed sluggish, their eyes glazed and unfocused. If they weren’t on the ground the humans swayed in place.

“You’re not gonna die on me or anything, right?” Dean asked hesitantly, guiding Castiel to the wall of the fountain, where he assumed the fae could sit. 

Castiel scowled. “I am not a weakling,” he sniffed, but the moment Dean let him down, he toppled right into the fountain. Dean had to tug him out, almost laughing at the sight of a sopping wet Castiel glowering at him. He looked like a cat being forced to take a bath. Carefully, Dean guided Castiel to the ground, allowing his back to lean up against the edge of the fountain. Noticing Castiel’s crown was gone, Dean retrieved it from the pool, gently placing it back onto Castiel’s head.

“You’re not gonna die on me or anything, right?” Dean repeated, sitting down next to Castiel. There was a real logistical necessity for Castiel to survive. After all, Dean didn’t want to be trapped in the fae kingdom forever. But, much as Dean hated to admit it, he also didn’t want Castiel to die for selfish reasons. Cas was the best friend he’d ever had. Thoughtfully, Dean added, “Is there anything I can do?”

“Nothing I am willing to put you through.”

“Try me.”

Castiel sighed, readjusting his crown. “Fae keep humans because they offer a source of power. If we were to trade, as we have in the past, I could draw from your power, rather than take a memory.” 

“Then I don’t get the problem,” Dean shrugged, “It’s not like we haven’t already traded shit.”

“It is a far greater transaction than you have experienced,” Castiel spoke slowly, “And...given our farce of  _ lovers _ , it would require a far more...intimate touch.”

“ _ Sex? _ ” Dean choked it out, hating the strange surge of emotions that followed. He didn’t want to bang Cas. He didn’t. He didn’t. He wouldn’t mind. He wouldn’t  _ mind? _ Oh god, there was too much to unpack there, Dean wasn’t supposed to not mind banging his best friend slash supernatural creature.

Castiel, to his credit, was equally scandalized. “Not intercourse!” he yelped, “A...kiss.” Castiel said the word almost shyly, glancing at one of the golden tiles beneath them.

A kiss wasn’t half bad. Kissing...well, plenty of people did kissing. Hell, there were cultures out there that kissed each other in greeting. Besides, it wasn’t really kissing, it was more like mouth to mouth. Dean had to save Cas by putting his mouth on Castiel’s mouth. Lifeguards didn’t agonize over using that technique, so Dean shouldn’t either. “I’ll do it,” Dean said, though he made a point to also not look Castiel in the eye as he said it.

“Briar…”

“It’s no big deal,” Dean waved a hand, “I mean, I got stuff I want too. It’s a win win.” He choked when he heard the words, “I mean, because I get a favor and you get my energy...or...whatever.”

“What do you want?”

“Protection,” Dean said quickly. “I think my brother’s at risk of being possessed. Can you make something to keep him safe?”

“You are selfless,” Castiel whispered. “You have a good heart. I can give that to you.” He shifted to face Dean, reaching out to place a gentle hand on Dean’s shoulder. “Are you ready?”

Dean nodded. Castiel moved closer, his nose almost touching Dean’s, then stopped. His brow was furrowed and he examined Dean’s face the way someone might stare down a difficult math problem. Dean nearly laughed. If his guess was correct, Castiel really hadn’t kissed anyone. Castiel took a deep breath, as though preparing to plunge into the ocean, then made a move. His crown knocked against Dean’s forehead.

Rubbing his head, Dean laughed this time. “Didn’t think I’d actually be able to outdo an immortal fae at something,” he whispered breathlessly, cupping Castiel’s cheek in his hand to gently guide their lips together.

Of course, many people called kissing  _ electric _ , but with his lips pressed against Castiel’s, Dean suspected nobody else quite understood that turn of phrase. It felt like there was an electric current running between them, terrifying and thrilling and painful and incredible. Dean didn’t move for fear of ruining some magic. When Castiel finally pulled away, Dean was well and truly dazed, an emotion he’d never felt after a mere kiss. 

Surprisingly, Castiel looked equally dazed. His eyes glowed slightly and although he stared at Dean’s mouth, his gaze was slightly unfocused. Not that Dean could blame him; he found himself reaching up to touch his lips. They felt the same. After the adrenaline wore off, Dean realized he was  _ exhausted _ . Thank goodness he was already on the ground. Dean slumped against the edge of the fountain.

“Are you okay?” Castiel whispered, helping Dean sit upright. 

“Feels like I’ve run a marathon,” Dean groaned, wondering briefly if he’d even be able to stand.

“Apologies. I have never done that before.” Castiel rubbed the back of his head, fiddling with his crown. He tugged one of the blueish river stones from the crown, replacing it with a small polished jade stone. Castiel whispered something unintelligible to the stone from his crown, a spell, and pressed his lips against it, creating the slightest of glow. He held the stone in his fingers, inspecting it in the light for a moment, before pressing it in Dean’s hand.

“This ought to protect your brother from supernatural threats,” he explained, “It will be most effective if on his person, but it can still work from a small distance.”

“Thanks.”

“Do not thank me,” Castiel frowned, “You have paid a much higher price.” He caught Dean’s eye, their hands still touching, and Dean felt an odd sensation of electricity again. Maybe it wasn’t just the magic after all.

“Castiel?” a voice said from above them. The pair was jerked back into reality; ever since that kiss, Dean had vaguely considered them alone. Now, with the voice, Dean could hear the chatter of the crowd again.

Castiel tugged his hand out of Dean’s and whirled around to face the voice. Dean, at the last minute, remembered to avert his eyes. To his surprise, the person wore a pair of polished formal shoes. Most fae had opted to go barefoot. The suit was black, unlike the bizarre array of colors Dean had seen; between the suit and the shoes, it was clear whoever this was had some grasp of the human world.

Castiel tensed up as he pushed to standing. “Michael,” he said hesitantly, “I thought the Order would have convened by now.”

“The Order is at a loss,” Michael’s voice was smooth and silky, he was someone clearly used to getting his way, “We are reaching out to past generals to join our ranks.”

“What does this have to do with me?”

“Despite your past…” Michael hesitated, but the pause sounded calculating. “... _ transgression, _ Gabriel insists you join.”

“Have you considered that I refuse to get involved in matters outside my realm?” Castiel snapped.

“Oh, Castiel,” Michael stepped forward to cup Castiel’s cheek in a gesture that was eerily similar to what Dean had done just minutes before. Dean’s stomach curled uncomfortably. He knew he wasn’t in the place to be possessive over Castiel (that would be ridiculous!) but still, Michael didn’t seem like the sort of fae who deserved to be remotely intimate with Castiel. “It is not a request.”

Castiel’s gaze darted to Dean. Dean wished he could stand by Castiel’s side, but he could barely move his legs. The thought of standing seemed almost impossible. Instead, Dean nudged Castiel with his foot. It was the best he could do. Castiel glanced down, offering Dean a wan smile before returning his focus to Michael. 

“Very well. Briar and I--”

“Your human won’t be necessary.”

It was hard to know what Dean was more irritated about, the way Michael was talking about him, or how he spoke to Castiel. The fae said  _ human _ like it was a dirty word, but not in the accusatory tone Hannah took. Hannah, it seemed, didn’t want humans for moral reasons. Michael seemed to believe he was above humanity. Dean immediately disliked him.

Castiel opened his mouth to protest, but Michael cut him off. “Tend to your human or I will, Castiel. But you  _ will _ be there.”

Michael turned on his heel and left, his shoes clicking against the golden tile. Castiel’s shoulders fell. He took a deep breath, then knelt next to Dean. Gently, he plucked the enchanted stone from Dean’s palm, sliding it into the pouch in Dean’s pocket. Castiel caught Dean’s eye, his expression dour as he reached a hand to Dean’s face. The fae hesitated for a moment. 

“I am sorry for this,” Castiel whispered, pressing his fingertips to Dean’s forehead. There was a flash of light, then darkness fell.

\---

When Dean awoke, the sky was a dusky blue. Blinking in the unexpected darkness, Dean realized that pinpricks of light scattered across the horizon, more stars than Dean had seen in his life. It was absolutely stunning. Between the gorgeous night sky and the systematic up and down of motion, Dean felt peaceful, as though--wait. Motion?

Dean, more awake now, became suddenly and embarrassingly aware that he was being  _ carried _ . Not just any sort of carrying, either. Someone was full on bridal carrying him. No, wait...Castiel was full on bridal carrying him. Mortified, Dean was torn between feigning sleep or insisting he could walk. The decision was made for him as he became increasingly aware of Castiel’s strong arms, Dean yelping a panicked “I’m awake!” as to avoid thinking too hard about anything.

Castiel dropped him. Dean hit the ground with a thump, groaning as one twig in particular caught his arm. To Dean’s relief, his arms and legs worked well enough to allow him to push up to sitting. 

“Apologies!” Castiel said hastily, reaching out a hand to help Dean to his feet. In the night sky, the stones on Castiel’s crown glowed ever so slightly. “I was not sure when you would awaken, but our time is growing to a close--”

“It’s all good,” Dean brushed off his suit, trying to remember just how those two days with Castiel had passed so quickly. Fae time was strange, without Castiel, Dean would have had no idea if he’d been there an hour or a week. As he considered a situation without Castiel, Dean remembered the events of earlier.

He scowled. “Actually, it’s not all good. What was with that magic shit? Thought you weren’t gonna pull that.”

Castiel sighed slowly. “I did not want to, but I...acted rashly. I wanted you to be safe, I wanted you to regain your energy. You have slept the entirety of the meeting and some of the way into my realm, so it seems it paid off.”

“But you didn’t ask.”

“I apologize.” The fae hung his head.

“Yeah, well…” Dean kicked a rock. He didn’t love the idea of things, especially magic things, happening without his consent. But what he especially didn’t like was the fact that, deep down, he trusted Castiel’s intentions. Dean wasn’t even sure he trusted his own father some days, but he trusted a magical being? Dean kicked another rock. “At least I’m okay. And you got some good intel, right?”

Castiel shrugged and resumed walking. Dean followed behind. “You got some good intel, right?” he repeated.

The fae just nodded. Dean felt a surge of irritation at Castiel’s avoidance. Who was Dean going to tell? It wasn’t like Dean would go nark on him to some other fae, Castiel ought to know that much by now. He was about to say as much when he caught sight of Castiel’s expression; lined, tired and aged. Centuries weighed on the fae, an ebb and flow of time that terrified Dean to even consider. But more than anything, Castiel looked sad.

Instinctively, Dean found himself reaching out a hand to grasp Castiel’s. The fae looked down at their hands, intertwined, and stared. “We are no longer around the others,” Castiel whispered hesitantly, “There is no need for extended physical contact.”

Bravery gone, Dean settled with giving Castiel’s hand a brief squeeze before letting it go. “It’s a friend thing,” Dean said, trying to convince himself, probably even more than Cas. “To let you know you’re not alone.”

Castiel’s lips twitched into a slight smile, but as quickly as it appeared, it was gone. They walked together in sad silence. Dean made it a point to stare up into the night sky, gazing at the vast cosmos with awe. And if his fingers brushed against Castiel’s from time to time, well, that was just friend stuff.

As it did in the journey to the fae kingdom, the forests changed, although this time, Castiel made it a point to avoid any forests filled with daylight. As they passed snowy pines, oaks with brown leaves still clinging to their branches, barren aspen, towering maples, Dean soon found that the only constant was Castiel’s hand bumping against his own. Dean contemplated the events of the solstice, which presented more questions than it answered, but most of all, he thought of Castiel. 

There was no doubt in Dean’s mind that, as clever as he’d been, he would not have been able to outwit the other fae. He would have been trapped, just like the others. Charlie, of course, Charlie was the exception, though Dean had no idea how she’d managed to avoid the fate of losing herself. Dean could think of no worse punishment than being trapped like that for eternity.

It almost made him feel better that he had not seen his mother in the kingdom. Better she die than end up like that.

A pang of sorrow hummed in his veins at the thought of her death. Dean had mourned Mary for years, of course, but even the brief glimpse of hope, the unlikely idea that she could have survived, rekindled a longing for his mother. Dean purposely brushed his hand against Castiel’s palm this time, trying to ground himself in something present. 

Which only reminded him of their electrifying kiss.

Dean did not look at Castiel for the remainder of the walk. That kiss was, well, it sure wasn’t as unassuming as typical mouth to mouth, which Dean knew was bound to be trouble. If that memory lingered the way Castiel’s presence often did, Dean was done for. It was annoying, really, to be subjected to that memory. Dean wasn’t interested in Castiel sexually, or romantically, or at all! Dean was...Dean was...well, he was definitely going to deal with that memory in one way or another.

The edges of the forest glowed yellow with the rising sun and at one point, Castiel stopped so suddenly that Dean was several paces in front of him by the time he realized it. They stared at each other in the silent dawn, Dean not daring to speak in fear he’d break the spellbinding moment. A bird called. The moment was gone.

“So, uh, where to next?” Dean asked, before it dawned on him that they were back. He was in the same forest in Virginia where he’d started the endeavor. 

“You are free to go,” Castiel said, though he didn’t meet Dean’s eye.

Dean glanced down, suddenly keenly aware that he was still adorned in a forest green tuxedo. “You got my real clothes for me?”

Castiel snapped his fingers. “They ought to be in your pouch.”

“Thanks.” Dean tugged the pouch out of his pocket. He stared at it with some curiosity. Two days he’d gone with very little to eat and nothing to drink–probably a side effect of the fae kingdom–yet Castiel allowed him to bring his supplies anyway. It was a simple gesture, but the kindness was evident. “I’ll see you around, then?”

To his surprise, Castiel’s brow furrowed. “No.”

Dean blinked. “What?”

“You shouldn’t come back,” Castiel growled, “It’s too dangerous.”

“Since when?”

“Since the solstice.”

Dean clenched a fist, a swell of emotions rising uncomfortably in his chest. “You invited  _ me _ ,” he snapped, pointing a thumb at his tie, “You brought me along. You can’t get rid of me now! I thought we were...I thought…” he bit his tongue. Dean was not about to be vulnerable with someone who was discarding him. This, Dean surmised bitterly, was why it was better to not make friends.

“I cannot lie to you, Dean,” Castiel said quietly. He didn’t move from his place in the forest, instead opting to watch Dean with clasped hands. “I have considered you more important than I intended. But my powers over an unbound human can only extend so far. You must not come back.”

“And if I do?” Dean struck an oddly belligerent tone, one more akin to Sam. Dean had spent so much time losing, so much time giving of himself, that the thought of losing the one thing outside his family that he considered precious was too much to bear.

Once again, Dean thought of the kiss before forcefully pushing the memory away.

“I…” Castiel wavered, his blue eyes boring into Dean’s very soul. He didn’t look much like a terrifying fae, he barely looked otherworldly, just...vulnerable. The world seemed to stop spinning on its axis, Dean nearly toppled over under the intensity of Castiel’s gaze. “I…” Castiel started again, but no other words came out.

Instead, Castiel turned on his heel and vanished into the forest.


	11. Plans

_ “How soul may walk when all such things are past, / How soul has walked before such things began.” -- W.B Yeats _

 

It didn’t take long for Dean’s bad day to grow infinitely worse. The first problem was simply logistics; Dean knew the moment he’d left Castiel’s realm for the human world because the forest floor went from a gentle carpet to a painful hellscape against his bare feet. Cursing, Dean dug through the magical pouch, searching for his shoes.

Of course, Castiel’s magic, while incredible, also provided entirely too much space in the pouch. It felt like digging through a small closet with the lights off. Eventually, he found both his shoes, along with the remainder of his clothes. There was no reason, after all, to hike through a forest in a tuxedo when he didn’t have to. Dean stripped down to his underwear, biting back a curse in the cold morning air as he returned to normal. 

It was only when he dumped his tuxedo unceremoniously in the pouch that Dean felt his stomach growl. Shit. Back in for his backpack. Except his phone had come out of his backpack pocket, which meant even  _ more _ digging for that part of tech...and naturally, it was dead and Dean was still out in the woods with nothing lined up for a charge.

Spectacular.

Dean wandered out of the forest, tired, grumpy and still slightly drained from Castiel’s spell (although that could also have something to do with the fact he’d only had one granola bar over the course of two days). Eventually he made his way to a McDonalds. Handing over a few crumpled bills, Dean bought himself a meal and set about charging his phone while he chowed down on french fries. 

As soon as the phone turned on, it buzzed with messages and missed calls. Still, Dean bought himself another twenty minutes of peace, slowing his pace and carefully savoring every bite. He had completely forgotten about the “case” (and who wouldn’t, surrounded by actual  _ fae _ ) and knew he was about to pay dearly for that mistake.

When he’d finished his meal, Dean tentatively checked his phone. Over a dozen missed calls and texts, mostly from Sam. He’d pitched a few lies they could use about the fires, but then trouble struck. John thought the case was a wash, dismissing it before he and Sam could even check out the arson case in Texas, and was headed back to Virginia.

Dean felt a lump form in his throat as he kept reading Sam’s texts. They’d made it to Virginia hours ago, only to discover their motel room was no longer checked out in John’s name.  _ Shit _ . They’d gone looking for Dean too, which explained the calls from John.  _ Shit. Shit. Shit _ . What was Dean supposed to do? John was sure to be furious…but Dean couldn’t abandon Sam. Even if it was hard to tell whether or not Sam was worried about Dean or just looking for someone to share in John’s hell. 

Dean took a few deep breaths as he punched in John’s number, holding the phone to his ear. He was ashamed to realize his hand was shaking ever so slightly. After all, Dean had faced supernatural monsters, sometimes barely armed, and come out just fine; a phone call to his dad, on the other hand, had his heart pounding more than Dean wanted to admit. 

“Where the hell are you?” John growled.

That was it. No question of if Dean was okay. Cringing, Dean told him the address.

“Injured?”

“No, sir.”

“So you’re just out here making my life difficult,” John surmised. A statement, not a question. Dean cringed again, already dreading the car ride that was going to follow.

“No, I was working the case and--”

“And what, Dean? Didn’t feel like answering your damn phone?”

“It died,” Dean rubbed his eyes, wondering if keeping his end of the bargain was worth this. He remembered the blueish stone, however, and the promise of protection it held for Sam. Yes. Anything was worth protecting his brother, even this.

“I’m not sure what you’re playing at, Dean, but pull a stunt like this again and you bet your ass I  _ won’t _ pick up when you call.”

A chill ran through Dean. Living with John was hard, of course, but they were still blood. The threat of losing that, losing his only family, was horrifying. “I’m sorry, sir.”

“You damn well should be.” John paused, “We’re here now.”

Sure enough, Dean spotted the familiar form of the Impala rolling into the parking lot of the McDonalds. John hung up. Dean groaned once more, louder this time. Reluctantly, he stood, pulling back on his pack and patting his jean pocket to ensure he still had Castiel’s magic pouch. He stuffed the charger back into his pack. After one final sweep of the area, Dean made his way outside and into the car. 

In the past, Sam would have at least been sympathetic to Dean’s plight, but he didn’t even spare Dean a backwards glance. Was he angry because of something John did to him? Or maybe Sam was afraid of what John might do if he teamed up with Dean. There was another alternative, of course, one where Sam just plain didn’t feel bad for Dean...but that wasn’t something Dean had the energy to consider.

“So, did you solve your  _ case _ ?” John dropped the last word with distaste as he pulled out of the parking lot.

“It was suspicious,” Dean lied, “But I couldn’t get any good intel.”

“Of course you didn’t.”

That was all John said, his disappointment hanging heavy in the car. It weighed on Dean the entire drive, as they made their way from Virginia to Tennessee. Nobody spoke. Not only did Dean have no clue where they were going or why, but it stung that Sam hadn’t bothered to look at him. Dean debated about fishing out his adder stone but opted against it. The last thing Dean wanted was for John to figure out what the adder stone did and take it from Dean “for the good of the team.”

Eventually, John pulled into another motel parking lot. After paying for a room, John left the car. Sam and Dean followed. John tossed his duffel bag onto a bed, then walked out the door. When Sam tried to leave, John barred the door. “Going out to meet up with a buddy of mine. Keep an eye on Dean.”

Well,  _ that _ stung. Dean tossed his bag onto the couch, fully prepared to pout in silence, but when John slammed the door, Sam attacked. He grabbed Dean’s jacket, tugging Dean to his feet and slamming him against the wall. With his arm pressed against Dean’s windpipe, Sam growled, “What the  _ fuck _ were you playing at?” 

“I’m sorry,” Dean wheezed. Sam’s eyes were cold and hard as he glared down at him. Guilt and horror coursed through Dean. He knew Sam was pissed but this was a new level. Sam pressed harder against Dean’s windpipe and Dean debated about what to do. Should he fight his brother? Could he? 

Sam blinked, almost surprised, and glanced down at Dean in confusion. He slowly removed his arm from Dean’s windpipe, stepping away as Dean coughed. “Dean,” Sam whispered, “I didn’t...that was…I was upset…”

Dean rubbed his throat, settling on the small couch as Sam plopped onto the bed. His initial instinct was to comfort Sam, but after being choked, it seemed prudent to maintain some distance between them. “I deserved it,” Dean mumbled, “It was a jerk move, leaving you and then not checking my phone.”

“That’s not like you.”

_ Neither is you strangling me _ , Dean wanted to say, but he resisted. He’d check on Sam at night, make sure Castiel’s enchanted stone was doing its job. Dean doubted he could get the stone on Sam’s person, but he  _ could _ make sure he didn’t leave his brother’s side again. And maybe, after this incident was over, Sam would go back to trusting Dean and Dean could give him the enchanted stone to wear himself. 

“Did you actually find something in the arson case?” Sam asked. 

Dean looked at his backpack. “Not really,” he admitted.

“Then why did your phone die?”

As much as Dean hated lying, he saw no other way. The truth was even less believable than a lie. “There was a girl.”

Sam laughed. “A girl or a guy?”

Dean flushed as he remembered Castiel’s kiss. It wasn’t even a real kiss, damn it, it was just a...well, it didn’t feel like a friend thing, but that’s what it was! “A guy,” he admitted. Keeping it closer to the truth would make the lie easier to maintain. “But you can’t tell Dad that.”

“He’d tear you apart if he knew you ditched a case for a guy,” Sam agreed, running a hand through his shaggy hair, “But a guy, wow. What did you do for that long together?”

“We went hiking.” That was technically true. “And he brought me to a party.” Also technically true. “And we had some  _ wild _ sex.” Not true, obviously, though it was not great that now Dean was  _ imagining _ what wild sex with Castiel would be like. Thankfully, Dean’s pink cheeks and awkward demeanor actually played into the lie and Sam laughed.

“That’s,” Sam paused, standing up to make his way over to the armrest of the couch, “I mean, okay, I still haven’t forgiven you for leaving me with Dad, but....” he trailed off, picking at the couch, “I didn’t think you’d ever do anything for yourself.”

“I wanted you to come with me,” Dean said earnestly. It was true, if there was some magical solution where he could free Sam from John and still visit Castiel alone, Dean would have jumped on it in a heartbeat. Of course, he didn’t want Sam to meet Castiel. It was hard to tell if that was because there was some danger to it, Castiel was a fae after all, or if some part of Dean wanted Castiel all to himself.

Silence fell and Sam left the couch, busying himself with the regular chores of unpacking and settling in. When Sam’s back was turned, Dean fished in his pouch to retrieve the adder stone. He peeked through it to find that the yellow haze around Sam had lessened. It was still there, faintly, but most of the haze was held at bay by a bluish light that emanated from the stone in Dean’s pocket. Castiel’s spell had worked! Dean breathed a sigh of relief, calmed by the comforting blue light of Castiel’s stone. Sam was safe. That was all that mattered. 

“What if we...did something?” Sam asked. Dean scrambled to shove the adder stone in his pocket as Sam turned around. The last thing Dean wanted was for Sam to ask questions. After all, he still wasn’t sure about how much Sam did or did not know about the mysterious yellow power surrounding him. And as much as Dean didn’t want to admit it, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. 

Dean huffed a laugh. “Pretty sure I’m already on Dad’s bad side. Don’t wanna know what’ll happen if he comes back and we’ve gone out for drinks or something. But I could cover for you if you--”

“--not drinks,” Sam interrupted, shaking his head as he began to pace the motel room. “What if we just...left.”

Left? They hadn’t talked about something like this since Stanford...and at least during the Stanford incident they’d had a plan. Sam had a scholarship, there was already housing in the works, hell, Dean had even started to scout out jobs. They’d never talked about it on the spur of the moment before. Dean opened and closed his mouth a few times before words could come out. “Thought you liked hunting now.”

“I do,” Sam shrugged, “But we can hunt without Dad,” he paused, then added, “Might even hunt  _ better _ without Dad.”

“Where’s this coming from?” 

“Dunno,” Sam ran his hand through his shaggy hair, “Feels like for the first time in a while, my head’s clear, y’know? Maybe it was watching how Dad reacted when you weren’t answering your phone...he was…” Sam sighed, “I wanted to say he was worried, but he just seemed inconvenienced.”

It felt prudent not to add that not an hour ago, Sam tried to strangle Dean for abandoning him. Was it Castiel’s protection spell? Could it be that some of the tension between Sam and Dean came not from Dean’s betrayal but...whatever the yellow stuff was? Dean tried not to get so excited at the prospect of having his brother back, but he couldn’t help it. He’d had many daydreams about escaping with Sam over the years, though usually tinged with guilt for not doing so sooner. 

“So if we run…” Dean said hesitantly, almost not believing it was real, “How? When?”

“Tonight?”

“ _ Tonight? _ ”

“I know it’s sudden,” Sam replied hastily, “It just seemed smart to do before, uh... _ we _ lose our nerve.” Of course, Dean knew what he really meant. Before Dean lost his nerve. But things had changed since the Stanford Incident. At the time, Dean had thought their family was all he had; losing their father meant losing a significant part of him. And it was true, John was, as much as Dean hated to admit it, still important to Dean. John was still his father. And John was Dean’s only connection to his mother. Mary’s memory survived far better with John than Dean, who had only been four when she’d disappeared. 

John had answers that nobody else could offer. But John was unkind. 

Sam was offering them an out. He was offering to run and, even more, offering Dean an opportunity to come with him. They could still be a family together as brothers. “So…” Dean’s voice dropped to a whisper, as though someone could overhear, “We just...walk out the front door right now?”

“Not now,” Sam paused, “I was thinking we could, uh, take the car.”

“ _ You want to steal the Impala?” _ Dean hissed, “Are you insane? Dad’s gonna be pissed enough to find out we both left--”

“Which is why we need a head start,” Sam insisted. “We’ll be the ones with reliable transportation, a roof over our heads if we need it...we’ll even have most of the weapons. Even if Dad came after us, which I’m not sure he will, we’d have the advantage.”

Dean hated that Sam’s ideas actually made sense. Clearly, Sam had envisioned this situation too, although it seemed like Sam did more to plan ahead for the logistical difficulties that would surely come. Of course, Dean reasoned, Sam didn’t have to deal with the crippling guilt that came from those sorts of daydreams. (And, fine, yes, maybe he was smarter than Dean. Sometimes.) Besides, much as Dean didn’t want to admit it, he loved the Impala. Driving her often, without John constantly judging his ability, would be a dream come true.

“Let’s do it,” Dean whispered, emboldened by Sam’s confidence and his newfound friendship with Castiel. Hell, maybe he could even use that friendship with Cas to score some more magical protection. Dean had trading down by now, and maybe, if he was lucky, Castiel would insist that Dean had to spend more time with him. 

“Really?” Sam whispered too, as though neither of them could bring themselves to say it out loud.

“Yeah. Tonight. Once Dad’s back.”

Sam smiled, actually smiled, a wide, toothy grin that Dean hadn’t seen the likes of for years. Dean couldn’t help it, he smiled too. The pair couldn’t stop smiling for the rest of the night. When John didn’t return, they assumed he was out drinking and Dean convinced Sam to splurge for a pizza delivery. 

They discussed potential locations to run to over thick slices of pepperoni pizza, talked about ways to keep their funds up and continue hunting without making it onto John’s radar. Dean considered telling Sam about Castiel, but decided against it. Maybe later. Maybe once they’d established a new normal without John. In the meantime, Dean decided to enjoy the return of the brother he’d once known and loved. He’d monitor Sam’s condition with the adder stone once they were away, and return to Castiel if they needed a more permanent solution. 

All his life, Dean had been taught to stay by John’s side and fear the fae, yet now, he was doing the exact opposite. Dean was so giddy at the thought he almost laughed. Sam’s smiles made the good mood infectious. That night, Dean lay in bed with hope in his heart. As much as he wanted to sleep (and dream of Castiel), however, he couldn’t manage to even get tired. 

When John finally stumbled into the motel around 1 AM, Dean didn’t dare move. He waited for his father to make his way to the other bed, flopping down on it with a heavy thump. Dean waited longer, his heart pounding wildly in his chest...when he heard John’s snores. Furtively, Dean peeked up from the bed, catching Sam’s wide eyes.

Now was their chance.

Carefully, Sam crept into his shoes before picking up both their duffel bags. He watched Dean expectantly. This was part of their plan. Dean had offered to steal the Impala keys; in part to make up for what he’d done years ago, and in part because he knew he wouldn’t be able to bear it if John caught  _ Sam _ stealing the Impala keys. Tiptoeing ever so silently, Dean made his way to John’s side.

John smelled like alcohol and strangely, Dean wondered what he’d miss about his father when they were gone. In sleep, John’s face was less lined, less serious than in waking. He looked almost kind. What kind of father would he have been if Mary hadn’t disappeared? For a moment, Dean hesitated, his trembling hand mere inches from John’s coat pocket. But the fact of the matter was, Mary was dead. She wasn’t coming back. The sort of father John could have been didn’t matter, and who he was now wasn’t ideal. Dean took a deep breath, steeling his nerves as he picked the pocket of the snoring drunk.

Out came John’s wallet and his keys.

Dean was so shocked that he nearly dropped them, the keys jingling loudly as he tried to steady himself. John groaned, shifting positions and Dean froze still. Thankfully, John merely rolled onto his side. Dean shoved the keys into his own pocket before rifling through the wallet, stealing all of the cash and all but one of the credit cards. They’d use the cards first, within the area, just enough to buy gas, food and new phones before ditching them. The keys felt heavy in Dean’s pocket as he realized that the thing he’d dreamed about for years was really happening.

It was also, strangely, the longest he’d gone since meeting Castiel that Dean hadn’t obsessed over the fae. 

Setting the wallet back onto the bed, Dean stumbled backwards. His heart was pounding now, more than it did on most hunts. He and Sam crept for the door, wincing as it creaked open, but again, John did not wake. Only once they were out of the motel room and the door safely closed did they break out into a run. Sam practically threw the duffel bags into the backseat in his haste to get into the car and Dean was shaking so hard he couldn’t fit the keys into the ignition to start the car. Once he tried, then a second time, until finally the keys slid in and the car roared to life. Dean shifted into drive, slamming on the gas as they peeled out of the parking lot towards the interstate.

Towards freedom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you expect this to happen? Because I, the author, sure as hell didn't.


	12. Gifts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update! I'm probably gonna be busy most of Friday...so I figured better early than late :D

_ “Poor men have grown to be rich men, / And rich men grown to be poor again, / While I am running to Paradise” --W.B. Yeats _

 

The first thing the Winchester brothers did, once they were confident that John wasn’t going to find them, was have a holiday celebration. While they’d missed Christmas in their attempts to flee, Dean insisted they enjoy it after the fact. 

“Next year we’ll do it properly,” Dean said as he hung a pine tree shaped air freshener to the wall. Underneath it lay a couple of gifts wrapped in plastic bags and newspaper, hasty presents bought at grocery stores and gas stations as they’d made their way across the country. For now, they’d settled along the Oregon coast. Sam had wanted to see the ocean and Dean couldn’t deny his brother anything. 

“Next year,” Sam repeated with a grin as he poured them both a cup full of eggnog. “I can’t believe we actually did it.”

Sam handed Dean a cup and Dean drank. Dean coughed; the eggnog was spiked with much more alcohol than he’d had expected. Sam laughed. The whole atmosphere was so comfortable, so familiar, which was unusual given the fact Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually had fun with Sam. It was a nice change of pace.

The next morning, they exchanged gifts. Dean had bought Sam a ridiculous purple shirt with a dog on the front, a pack of beers and some chewing gum. Sam had bought Dean no less than seven lighters and some beef jerky. Best of all, they had unintentionally bought each other the exact same touristy pocket knife from a gas station in Idaho, the blade was cheap, but the outside was covered in pictures of potatoes. 

They ate at a restaurant that bordered the bay and Dean realized that the only thing that could have made that day better was, strangely, Castiel. The fae had become a larger part of his life than Dean realized. After lunch, Dean and Sam decided to relax along the shoreline. As they wandered along the boardwalk, Dean ducked into a small antiques store. To his surprise, a small necklace caught his eye. It was a small golden pendant, a strange face with horns, hung on a simple cord. Dean bought it, haggling down the price, and shoved it into his coat pocket before Sam could see. Sam would only ask questions and Dean knew, deep down, he had bought the pendant for Castiel.

If Castiel had been another human, Dean reasoned, of course jewelry would be inappropriate, but Castiel was a fae. Something like this seemed a perfectly reasonable gift to give a fae; it was mysterious and beautiful at the same time, much like Castiel himself. Dean flushed. Not that Castiel was  _ beautiful _ , he was just, y’know, aesthetically pleasing. Anyway, the pendant didn’t even have to be a gift, per se, it could simply stand in as a token of Dean’s gratitude. 

After all, it was Castiel’s enchanted stone that seemed to turn Sam into the person Dean once knew. Granted, with the yellow haze always lingering on the outskirts of Castiel’s protection (and Dean had checked discreetly several times over the past few days), the stone could only be a momentary reprieve. Not only was it unable to banish the haze entirely, but it required Dean to be by Sam’s side at all times. While Sam didn’t seem to mind now, while they were still running on the euphoria of escaping John, Dean was sure there would be complications. Hunting would be harder, but so would life in general. Dean didn’t want to force his brother into the same restrictive fate they’d had with John.

These worries hovered over Dean for the remainder of their Christmas celebration. Still, Dean tried to enjoy it. After the boardwalk, They went to the movie theaters, another luxury. Dean even bought popcorn at Sam’s request. Although the outing was objectively nice, however, Dean couldn’t help but feel stressed. He wanted to visit Castiel  _ now _ , get things sorted out. 

Instead, they grabbed dinner at a fast food place, bought groceries for the upcoming week and tracked down some beer. The new year was fast approaching and Sam wanted to be prepared for the toasts. Finally, after many long hours, they returned to their motel room. Sam was tired but pleased and Dean couldn’t help but be heartened by his brother’s grin. Stress aside, it really had been a magical day.

Still, Dean was antsy. He lay in bed, wide awake, just waiting for Sam to drift off. When it was clear Sam was asleep, Dean left his bed. He laid the small stone behind the clock on the nightstand, close enough to Sam to keep the evil at bay, but out of sight. Then, heart pounding, Dean snuck out of the motel room. It took awhile for him to reach a forest, Dean didn’t dare take the Impala, but finally,  _ finally _ , Dean found a copse of trees. He raced inside, peace filling his heart at last. 

Even though it was a new area, the sound of the sea could still be heard among the pines, Castiel’s realm still felt familiar. Dean couldn’t keep the grin off his face as he spotted a small stream and felt the odd, timeless sensation that came with entering a fae’s realm. When he saw Castiel, back to his oversized robes, Dean broke into a run, slamming Castiel with an impulsive hug. The fae tensed, drawing a silver blade, but he relaxed as he caught Dean’s eye.

“You should not do that!” Castiel protested, though his eyes were filled with worry, rather than anger. He did not hug back, but Dean didn’t care, pressing his head against Castiel’s shoulder. It had been over a week since Dean had seen Castiel at all. There hadn’t been time to visit and Dean had fallen asleep each night so exhausted that dreams evaded him. Although Castiel did not hug Dean, he did not move to end the hug either. 

Finally, after it seemed a lifetime had passed, Dean let go of Castiel. “Do fae celebrate Christmas?”

Castiel cocked his head. “We do not partake in human holidays.”

Unfortunate, but Dean was not to be deterred. He had come for two important reasons. Reaching into his jacket pocket, Dean withdrew the antique pendant. “This is for you,” Dean explained breathlessly, handing the pendant to Castiel. 

To his surprise, Castiel regarded the object reverently. The fae gently clasped Dean’s hand is his own as he took the pendant. Castiel stared at it in awe. “What brings about this sort of kindness?”

Dean shrugged. “It was Christmas and I, uh, y’know, I thought it would be nice to give you a gift.”

“It will be most treasured,” Castiel whispered, carefully bowing his head to slide the necklace onto his neck. Dean felt a ping of happiness at the sight of his pendant displayed proudly on Castiel’s chest. The moment seemed to stretch, especially when Castiel caught Dean’s eye. Dean felt himself drown in a sea of blue, caught up on a wave of pure peace and...affection?

Blinking, Dean broke the connection. He hadn’t expected such warmth from Castiel and wasn’t sure what to make of it. A rustle of branches caught Castiel’s attention and the smile slipped from his lips as he glanced around the forest. “You have been kind,” Castiel whispered, “But you should not be here. It is dangerous.”

“Because of the solstice thing?”

Castiel nodded. “Between the failed ceremony and my forced engagement in the Order, my realm is no longer safe. I fear…” he paused, catching himself. “It is no concern to you.”

“It could be,” Dean blurted out, feeling oddly bold as he saw his pendant on Castiel’s neck. For better or worse, they were connected, even if it wasn’t a magical bond. “I’m a hunter, who better to help?”

The fae smiled fondly, reaching out a hand to tentatively cup Dean’s cheek. “You are brave, Briar, but the concerns of my realm are not your responsibility. You have a life to live. A brother to protect.”

Dean hummed, looking down. Although the second reason for his visit revolved around finding better protection for Sam, it seemed insensitive to ask for help now. Besides, maybe if he told Sam, his brother would understand and wear the protective stone of his own volition. “What will you do?” Dean asked. He could protect his brother, but it worried Dean slightly that he couldn’t protect his friend. 

“I do not yet know,” Castiel admitted, removing his hand from Dean’s cheek. “But you should not trouble yourself with my affairs. You will be protected, that is all you should know.”

“What about you?”

Castiel huffed a laugh. “What about me?”

“Don’t the other fae have their own human chargers?” 

“No, the humans do not charge into battle.”

Dean shook his head. “Chargers like they...uh…” how could he explain this reference in a way the fae would understand? “they refill your energy.”

Castiel’s brow furrowed, his eyes growing stormy. “The Resistance has managed without those gross injustices.”

“Yeah, but,” Dean couldn’t even believe he was saying it. John would have skinned him alive for even thinking such a thing, especially after Mary. But Castiel wasn’t the fae who stole Mary. Castiel was Dean’s friend and he needed help. “I mean, if I chose to-”

“ _ NO,”  _ Castiel cried. Birds scattered, leaving the trees with loud calls. Castiel bowed his head, not looking at Dean. “Your duty is to your family and your family  _ alone _ .”

Dean knew Castiel meant his brother. After all, Sam was the only person Dean had told Castiel about. But in using the word family, Castiel brought up connotations Dean did not want to think about. John, after all, was his family too. And the last thing Dean wanted was any sort of connection with him. Not now. “My duty is my own!” Dean snapped, “ _ Nobody _ is going to tell me otherwise.”

Castiel caught his breath. The fae trembled, his eyes fixed on Dean. “Briar,  _ please _ …” Castiel whispered, his voice breaking. Whatever Castiel was caught up in, Dean realized it was far bigger than he could comprehend. For a fae, someone with long life and immense power, to be scared, well. Maybe it was naive to think that Dean could help. Then again, Dean was strong. He’d taken down wendigos, he’d hunted vampire nests...he’d saved lives.

“Please swear you will not return,” Castiel whispered. 

“You said the protections extended to the human world,” Dean argued, trying to take another approach. He couldn’t quite believe he’d come to find help for Sam and was trying instead to help the fae, but being with Castiel always made the not-quite-possible into something very real. “I’d be helping my own kind.”

“I will not endanger you.”

“Won’t I be endangered anyway?” Dean pressed, “I could fight.”

“You will  _ not _ fight!” Castiel stood tall, his wings manifesting into the real world. Dean forgot how large they were, especially spread out to nearly their full length. “That is an  _ order _ .”

“I don’t take orders anymore,” Dean growled, “Not from him and definitely not from you.”

Castiel’s wings flickered for a moment, then vanished. “Are you taking orders from another fae?”

“Nothing like that,” Dean spat bitterly, adding, “It’s not your concern.”

Silence fell. Castiel slowly meandered to a nearby log, sitting down with a sigh. “I want to protect you, Briar.”

_ Briar _ . Dean had prided himself on keeping his name secret. He’d also felt a twinge of pleasure knowing that Castiel had named him. But, if Dean provided his name...could he be of better help to Castiel? Horrified at the thought, Dean tried to remember why he’d come. He’d ventured into Castiel’s realm to help  _ Sam _ . Then again, maybe if he was bound to Castiel, the fae would have an easier time fully cleansing Sam. And maybe, given Castiel’s kindness, Dean would be able to leave his side. He could care for his brother and his friend; Dean could have everything he truly wanted.

The thoughts swirled in Dean’s head like a creek bed stirred by a stick, clouding his judgement. Before long, reason began to slip away as Dean unearthed the old sensation of enchantment, the sort Castiel used to unintentionally cast. Had it always been there, or had Dean brought it back? Castiel hadn’t cast it now, that much was certain, but the sensation was present nonetheless. It tugged at his name, loosening his tongue, allowing Dean’s inhibitions to slip away until there were only two thoughts left in Dean’s mind.  _ Castiel _ .  _ Dean _ .

“You know,” Dean whispered, the world starting to spin as he made his way to Castiel’s side. “My name isn’t Briar.” He knelt at Castiel’s feet, staring up at the fae with the same adoration he’d felt Castiel project earlier. “My true name is--”

Castiel’s blue eyes widened in horror and the fae slammed a hand to Dean’s mouth before Dean could speak. The pain jolted Dean back into reality. How had he gotten so close to telling Castiel his true name? How was it that the very thought of Castiel in danger–without Dean by his side, no less–set old enchantments back in motion? In some ways, it felt as though they were already bound. Friendship, it seemed, created stronger bonds than either of them expected.

A tear dripped onto Dean’s hand and Dean looked up to find Castiel’s eyes rimmed with red. “I am sorry,” the fae whispered, “I did not want to do this, but I must take something from you.”

Betrayal rattled Dean to his very core. “You can’t!” he shouted, shaking free of Castiel’s hand, “I haven’t given you anything!”

Trembling, Castiel lifted the golden pendant. “You already did.”

With a swift motion, Castiel caught both Dean’s shoulders in his hands. “I swore I would not hurt you,” he said softly, “And I won’t.” Before Dean could react, Castiel leaned forwards, pressing his lips to Dean’s head. There was a flash of light, Dean could feel something being tugged from his mind, and–

Dean awoke in his motel room with a loud gasp, tears streaming down his face.

“You okay, dude?” Sam asked groggily, poking his head up from his bed. “Did you have another nightmare?”

Wiping the tears from his cheeks, Dean lay in bed, going over his memories. He still remembered Castiel, that was a good sign. In fact, although there could be gaps, the fact he could still remember their kiss seemed to be a good sign. There also didn’t seem to be any gaps of memories of Sam or John, and even Dean’s precious few memories of Mary seemed to be intact. Whatever Castiel had taken from him would be harder to figure out.

“I’m fine,” Dean groaned.

A pillow sailed over Dean’s face, landing nearby. “C’mon, dude, Dad’s not here anymore,” Sam said, “We don’t have to have any secrets.”

That was real rich, coming from the guy who may or may not know about the strange yellow glow that enshrouded him. Still, Sam was right. The less secrets they had between the two of them, the easier it would be to keep each other safe. And, telling the truth (at least, part of it) might actually encourage Sam to speak up about his secret. 

“It was a nightmare,” Dean admitted, though he wasn’t entirely sure. It felt oddly like a dream when he thought about that night. Dean couldn’t remember how he’d made it to Castiel’s side, or how he’d returned. Still, as Dean felt his pocket (he hadn’t bothered to change, apparently), it was clear the pendant was gone. Was it a dream? 

“About what?” Sam asked. The bed sunk near Dean’s feet and he looked up to find Sam sitting on the bed next to him. 

“Losing people I cared about,” Dean replied, feeling emotion well up in his throat once again. The emotion was so real, so raw. How could it feel so much like it had happened when it seemed like a dream?

“I’m sorry,” Sam patted his knee awkwardly.

“Did you have nightmares?” Dean didn’t want the focus on him, especially in case he teared up again.

“Surprisingly? Not at all,” Sam smiled slightly, “Ever since we left, I haven’t had bad dreams.”

That cheered Dean up enough to get him out of bed. “So, what’s on the agenda today? I was thinking we should probably find a new set of plates for the Impala.” They’d been going plateless for the last couple days in order to avoid being tracked down by their license plate, but that was risky. Fresh plates were a necessity for staying under the radar.

“Sure,” Sam hopped up and began to pack his clothes. Dean followed suit, quietly hunting for the pendant in case it had simply disappeared. He’d just slipped Castiel’s stone into his pocket for safe keeping when he noticed Sam had stopped moving.

“Sam?”

His brother looked up sheepishly. “I was actually thinking, Dean...we should do a case.”

“A case?” Dean knew this day was coming, but it had only been a week since they’d run. He’d expected more time.

“Yeah,” Sam slowly folded his purple t-shirt, “I mean, Dad might have gotten a lot wrong, but...we were saving lives. It feels wrong to stop.”

“What if Dad takes the same case as us?”

“We could take a smaller case! One that’s not high on his radar,” Sam said, tugging his laptop back out of his duffel bag. “In fact, I might have found one last night.”

He opened the laptop, fingers flying over the keys as he searched for something. Dean wandered closer, dreading what Sam might have on hand. To his surprise, the headline to an online paper for a small Utah town that read “Local Fire Deemed Arson Case.”

Dean frowned. “Another fire? Dude, I thought that we’d already decided that these really are just arson cases, not the supernatural.”

“But get this,” Sam said, scrolling through the article, “It’s just like the two cases we told Dad we should look into. Only one person survived this fire, looks like they’re about the same age as the other people from the other cases and they also disappeared!” 

Huh. That was actually kind of suspicious. Dean found himself regretting the fact he hadn’t looked into his own case much, but what choice did he have? He’d had to meet Castiel...although when Dean tried to remember  _ how _ he’d managed to meet up with Castiel, he drew a blank. Frowning, Dean pushed the situation out of his mind. There did seem to be a connection between the arsons, even if it was just copycats. 

While Dean did not like the idea of Sam going out to fight, especially given the last hunt they’d done together, he didn’t see an alternative. John was right. They had a responsibility to protect people. With a long sigh, Dean nodded. “Fine. We’ll take the case.”

Sam looked so proud. Dean hadn’t seen his brother this pleased in years. How could he begrudge him this case? Besides, they had to start hunting sometime. 

They left the Oregon coast later that morning, stopping only to attach plates that John wouldn’t be able to track. Dean wasn’t sure how long John would try to catch them, but he wasn’t about to let his guard down and find out. As they settled into their drive, Dean found himself wondering once again what Castiel had taken. He’d replayed a multitude of memories, many of them powerful and meaningful. If Castiel had wanted to take away Dean’s trust of him, for instance, Castiel would have stolen the memory of his promise. Perhaps, Dean wondered vaguely, there had been some moment when Castiel had done something awful.

But that didn’t seem like Cas.

It was only later, pulled over at a rest stop to stretch his legs, that Dean stumbled upon the answer. The rest area was set along a wooded area; picnic tables dotting the outskirts in an attempt to encourage travelers to stop and enjoy a glimpse of nature. In December it was too cold to be dining outdoors, but Dean liked the liberty of choosing to wander. John never would have let them linger.

As he made his way into the trees, however, Dean realized something was missing. Gone was the tug in the back of his mind, the way his feet seemed to wander without his guidance. Gone was the sensation of timelessness, the eerie silence that would fall. Dean stumbled backwards in horror as it hit him: Castiel’s first gift to Dean had been a knowledge of his realm. And now, that gift was gone.

Dean couldn’t find his way back to Castiel.


	13. Andy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey hey! A hearty shout out from grad school. I'm hoping to still keep this going regularly (haven't missed a Friday yet!) but please do be patient with me if something comes up. I'm working on my thesis :D

“ _ Out naked on the roads, as the books say, and stricken / By the injustice of the skies for punishment?”   --W.B. Yeats _

 

Dean was suddenly very grateful for the case. 

There was too much to think about with Castiel. Dean felt betrayed and hurt, though he also knew he should feel relieved. After all, Castiel would always be a fae. And judging by how close Dean came to giving up his name, even the nicest fae was still dangerous. But no amount of logic could make Dean feel better about losing his best friend. 

Better to simply drown out the feeling with duty. 

But first, Dean realized as they rolled into a suburb outside of Salt Lake City, he could drown out his feeling with alcohol. As fate would have it, it was time to ring in the new year and although Dean didn’t feel remotely like celebrating, New Year’s Eve did provide a perfect excuse for drinking. He and Sam had a subdued celebration in their motel. Both too tired to join into any public festivities, they instead opted to open a pack of beer and toast to the future and their newfound freedom. 

As Dean started on his second beer, Sam cleared his throat. “You, uh, having second thoughts?”

Dean jumped, beer sloshing over the sides of the bottle. “About what?”

“Y’know…” Sam gestured awkwardly, “Leaving?”

Oh. Maybe Dean wasn’t as subtle as he thought with keeping his glum mood to himself. Of course, what was he supposed to tell Sam? He was really unhappy that his supernatural friend essentially called it quits and ensured Dean could never visit again? There wasn’t even a good lie for the situation. The best Dean could think of was that his lover had broken up with him...and Sam would see through that in a second. Dean had never been one to make attachments.

Dean rubbed the wetness around the neck of the bottle, staring at the motel floor. This one seemed to originally have black and white patterned carpet, though years of customers meant it was black and grey. He took another swig, biding his time and avoiding eye contact.

“I just…” Sam sighed, taking another gulp of his own beer, “I need to know you’re not gonna leave for Dad or something.”

“Never,” Dean replied fiercely, leaving his seat to approach his brother. The momentum faded as he reached Sam’s side and Dean ended up awkwardly plopping his hand on Sam’s shoulder. Sam squinted up at him for a moment before snorting.

“Thought you said no chick flick moments,” Sam laughed.

Dean laughed too, the tension in his chest dissolving. His secret was safe and his brother was sated. “You think  _ this _ is a chick flick moment, jerk?”

“Bitch,” Sam parried back easily, downing the remainder of his first bottle.

Some of the sadness leaked away, enough for Dean to ignore the hurt confusion about Castiel and instead enjoy the night with his brother. They swapped stories about their childhood, turned on a rerun of  _ The Matrix _ and drank periodically until they were tipsy and tired.

“What do you want? Like...in the future?” Sam had ended up on one of the beds, flopped onto his stomach, and he poked at one of the empty beer bottles on the nightstand.

“To go,” Dean murmured. He was also laying down, but on his back. He stared up at the ceiling, which was surprisingly filthy, given it wasn’t exactly within reach. With the evening winding down, the sadness was trickling back in. Sadness about Cas, of course, but also sadness about the past. He and Sam could have been doing this years ago if Dean hadn’t gotten cold feet.

“Go? Where?”

“I dunno,” Dean waved his hand, “Just...take Baby and drive forever.”

Drive or  _ wander _ . There was something entrancing, even now, about the timelessness of Castiel’s realm. Then again, that could just be because the destination, Castiel himself, was kind of ideal. It was a strange thought, especially because Dean didn’t connect with anyone outside his family, but Castiel had genuinely made Dean happy. The journey to him was unexpectedly wonderful too; Dean had never spent his time travelling towards something good.

Sam snorted. “You’d drive into the ocean, dude.”

“Shut up.” Dean tossed a pillow in Sam’s direction, but it fell short. Sam laughed harder. “What do you wanna do?”

The laughter slowed. “I don’t...I don’t know.”

“Really?” Dean sat up. Sam had always been the one with plans. He’d had big dreams and ways to achieve them.

Sam covered his face with a pillow. “I used to think college,” he said, voice muffled, “But...I dunno, it’s like hunting took over my life. I haven’t seen life without hunting for...forever?”

Forever? No, Dean knew exactly when Sam’s plans changed, about a month after they’d failed to run away to Stanford. Only a couple days after Sam’s birthday. His brother hadn’t been the same since then. Dean had always blamed himself, of course, but now he couldn’t help but wonder...could the mysterious yellow force have crept in around the same time? Dean cursed silently. If there was anyone who could have really aided in figuring out what happened to Sam, it would have been an immortal fae.

“Do you want to hunt?” Dean asked.

“Dunno,” Sam sighed, pushing up to sitting. His hair flopped into his eyes and once again, Dean was reminded of just how young his brother was. It had been a long time since Sam had looked this vulnerable. Sam caught Dean’s eyes and smiled faintly. “Guess I can figure out with you, though. If you don’t drive into the ocean, anyway.”

Dean beamed. “Not a half bad plan.”

“Driving into the ocean?” 

They both laughed, Dean lobbing another pillow at Sam. The new year might not have started perfectly...but it wasn’t a half bad beginning, either.

The next morning, they hit the ground running (and unfortunately hungover). Sam was less interested in the burnt husk of the small home and instead argued they should try to track down the missing person. In this case, a young man named Andrew Gallagher. He was about Sam’s age, a college dropout who’d only recently answered a Craigslist posting for a roommate. As luck would have it, however, Andy drove a distinct VW Bus. 

“Last spotted here,” Sam said, pointing to traffic cam footage he’d pulled up on the laptop. They’d managed to track the van to the southern edge of Utah. Andy’s car had passed through the small town of Kanab about 24 hours ago and hadn’t been spotted in any direction since then. Sam frowned. “Maybe he ditched the car?”

Dean tilted his head, looking at the photograph of Andy’s Bus. It wasn’t the nicest car out there, Andy certainly didn’t take care of it the way Dean took care of the Impala, but it still looked well loved. “If he’s anything like me, I don’t think so,” Dean said slowly, “I can’t imagine leaving Baby.”

“Just because you’re in love with the Impala doesn’t mean everyone’s into their cars,” Sam rolled his eyes.

“Even if he didn’t love the car, it’s still a useful one,” Dean argued, vaguely offended. Baby was a gem among vehicles, she deserved every ounce of love he gave. “The dude could sleep in that car, maybe even cook himself meals if he’d planned ahead.”

“Yeah, but it stands out! It can’t be worth the risk of getting caught.”

At an impasse, they decided to drive to Kanab to search for themselves. The town was tiny, propped up largely by the film industry, which occasionally took advantage of the quintessential wild west wilderness nearby. It was desert and red rock as far as the eye could see and Dean couldn’t help but feel grateful. He wouldn’t have been able to visit Castiel even if he’d known how.

To their surprise, they found Andy’s van parked near the town’s small cemetery. As the Winchesters approached it, guns and knives stowed on their person, Dean realized just how unprepared he was for an actual hunt. He’d never hunted with Sam before, not without John present, and John was always the one calling the shots. Now, Sam turned to Dean, who couldn’t help but feel like his dad would have expected it to play out in the reverse, Dean turning to Sam, who had proven to be a more competent hunter.

Dean didn’t want to think about how one bad call on his end could get his younger brother killed.

Not that there would be a bad fight here. Most supernatural creatures were more powerful in night than daylight, for one thing, and besides, from the little they gleaned about this Andrew Gallagher, he didn’t seem that dangerous. Dean skirted the Bus, peeking in through windows that were covered with what looked like dirty band t-shirts. The inside of the vehicle was dark and Dean squinted, searching for a body. Although it was hard to see, however, Dean felt reasonably confident he would have been able to detect a human form...and there wasn’t one inside the van.

Maybe Sam had been right and Andrew ditched the van for a less conspicuous ride.

“Who the hell are you?” a voice said from behind. Dean nearly jumped out of his skin as he whirled around to face the source. The man was hardly threatening. Not only was he shorter than them, but he looked pretty disheveled: baggy sweats, a grease stained t-shirt and scraggly dirty blond facial hair. Dean breathed a sigh of relief. 

“What are you doing by my car? Get away from my car!” The man continued and, despite the unthreatening tone, Dean found himself moving away from the car. Sam, who stood on the other side, wavered for a moment, glancing at Dean before following suit.

“Andrew Gallagher?” Sam asked slowly. The man’s eyes widened; it was definitely Andrew.

“Get the hell away from me!” he shouted and Dean acted on impulse, sprinting towards the towering red rocks in the distance. As his feet pounded beneath him, it occurred to Dean that he had no idea  _ why _ he was running. Andrew didn’t have a gun and he wasn’t exhibiting the signs of something dangerous. Dean slowed his pace, turning back to gape at Andrew.

Sam, unlike Dean, hadn’t run. He still faced Andrew, though he looked pained. “We just...want to talk,” Sam gasped.

Dean wanted to run back, to help his brother, but the feeling of  _ away _ still thrummed in his chest. He didn’t know how, or why, or what was causing it. After all, Dean wasn’t a coward...was he? Although he couldn’t bring himself to get closer, Dean did at least resist the urge to run even further away.  _ Pathetic _ . If John could see him now, he would not be pleased.

“Who are you?” Andrew repeated, turning his focus to Sam.

“We just want to talk,” Sam repeated.

“ _ Tell me who you are _ ,” Andrew demanded, taking a step towards Sam. 

To Dean’s horror, Sam cowered. Dean recognized the expression on his brother’s face, it was the same look Sam had whenever he was trying to hide injuries from John. Sam was in pain. Dean’s older brother instincts overrode the last of the desire to flee and he ran back, gun drawn as Sam said his name through gritted teeth.

“Leave him alone!” Dean shouted, pointing the gun at Andrew, who blinked, seemingly having forgotten Dean was even a player in this fight.

“Stop!” Andrew cried, and Dean froze in place, mid-run, gun still drawn. Closer now, Dean could see that Andrew was shaking. For a creep with some sort of supernatural power, he didn’t seem particularly confident in his abilities. Andrew glanced from Sam to Dean. He ran a hand over his face, taking a deep breath before locking eyes with Dean. “Put that gun to your own head.”

Dean’s blood ran cold as his hand moved of its own accord, pressing the cool metal against his temple. His heart pounded and Dean held his breath. They had  _ vastly  _ underestimated Andrew. Andrew regarded him, oddly worried, as though he was afraid the gun might go off by accident.

“Leave my brother alone!” Sam roared, pointing his own gun at Andrew, but Andrew shook his head.

“I-I’m the one asking the questions here,” Andrew said, voice wavering slightly, “And if you don’t do what I say, your brother  _ will _ kill himself.”

Slowly, Sam lowered his weapon. “What do you want?”

“What do  _ I _ want?” Andrew barked a strained laugh, “I don’t want to get shot by two strange men with guns! You’re the ones who came after me!”

Dean’s arm quivered slightly and he tried to focus on ensuring his finger wouldn’t slip on the trigger. He wasn’t sure if it was possible to resist Andrew’s apparent mind control, but there wasn’t exactly much room to try. One slip up and he’d be dead.

Meanwhile, Sam began to walk closer to Andrew, his hands up in the air. He regarded the man with a strange expression, caught somewhere between pity and cool calculation. Dean didn’t like it. “We just want to know what happened with the fire,” Sam said slowly, “There have been...similar cases across the country.”

Andrew blinked. “There are people  _ like me? _ ”

Sam glanced at Dean, surprised. Of course, they’d wondered if there was a connection between arsons, but Andrew’s reply gave them another lead. It might not be monsters, it could be….whatever Andrew was. “Maybe,” Sam said, “That’s what we’re trying to figure out. We’re here to help.”

Andrew scoffed. “You wouldn’t believe me.”

“Does it look like my brother and I missed a beat when you pulled out your mind control?” Sam asked, “The unbelievable is kind of our M.O.” Clever Sam, always the smarter one. And the stronger one, too, given his ability to resist Andrew’s control much longer than Dean. First hunt without John and Dean was already screwing up. Dean tried to force his hand away from his head, to no avail.

“You want to help me?” Andrew sounded small, almost pathetic. Certainly not like a mind controller who could murder Dean with ease.

Sam nodded. “But you have to get my brother out of harm’s way first. Then we can talk.”

Andrew glanced from Sam to Dean, then back again. He twisted his hands, uncomfortable and in thought, before relenting. “Fine.”

With a nod in Dean’s direction, the gun fell away from Dean’s temple. Dean sagged in relief, the pistol slipping from his fingers and falling to the ground. Sam was at his side in moments, scooping up the gun and inspecting Dean for any other injuries. When it was clear Dean was fine, Sam returned to Andrew. “What happened?”

The answer, they learned as Andrew invited them into the back of his dirty VW Bus, was complicated. First came awkward introductions, Sam repeating his name, Dean giving his and Andrew explaining that he preferred to go by Andy. For years, Andy had been plagued by bad dreams, which he attributed to a poor relationship with his mother and stepfather. The mind control, on the other hand, was a recent development, one Andy hadn’t been aware he’d had until accidentally influencing his stepfather to walk off their raised porch rather than hit him in a drunken rage. His stepfather survived, though he broke his leg. 

From that point, Andy suspected he had powers, working to test their limits. Years passed, Andy still weathering abuses, though he grew more adept at mind control. His powers included sending intrusive thoughts--though Andrew had not yet discovered the range at which he could do so--and causing people to bend to his will. The only caveat was that Andy couldn’t seem to control it when he was angry and eventually, the continued drunken encounters with his stepfather resulted in the man’s death. Horrified, Andy had run, racing across the country until he settled in Utah, an unlikely spot. 

“So you lost your temper and set the house on fire?” Sam asked shrewdly, nudging aside old fast food wrappers as he adjusted his position in the car. To their surprise, however, Andy burst into tears.

“I didn’t want to hurt them!” he whimpered, “I always thought my bad dreams were just dreams, but that night was different. My dream seemed more realistic, I watched my body move...I watched myself sedate them...and then, I... _ I… _ ” Andy’s voice cracked and he gulped, trying to avoid the tumble of tears, “I didn’t realize it really happened until I woke up in my van in the middle of nowhere, smelling like smoke.”

“You burned the house down without thinking?”

“Not...exactly.” Andy shifted uncomfortably. “The man in the dreams told me to.”

“What man?” Sam gasped sharply.

“He’s been watching me for years, watching me do... _ horrible _ things, but only in my dreams! But when I started to get a handle on the whole, y’know, mind control, he--”

“--started talking to you,” Sam finished grimly, in a tone that implied he understood. Dean swiveled to stare at his brother. Was that what Sam was hiding from him? Some sort of creepy murder voice? As Dean considered it, he wondered if Andy might exhibit a similar yellow haze as Sam. He couldn’t pull out his adder stone now, not in such close quarters, but maybe if he excused himself…

“Gotta take a leak,” Dean grunted, pushing out of the bus. Sam glared at him, but Dean ignored it. He didn’t have an instant connection to Andy and, if Dean was being honest with himself, he wasn’t entirely sure he trusted Sam to be forthcoming. But the adder stone wouldn’t lie. 

To make it believable, Dean wandered far enough away to make it look like he’d taken a discreet leak behind a tree before slowly making his way back to the Bus. They were still out of sight, windows shielded with dirty laundry, but the babble of discussion drifted in Dean’s direction, though he couldn’t make out specifics. Nervously, Dean tugged the adder stone from his pocket. He really ought to get a cord for it, wear it under his shirt, but the thought of wearing a necklace from Castiel made him sad. With a sigh, Dean pushed the heaviness away, squinting through the stone.

Sure enough, yellow haze enveloped the Bus, more than usually plagued Sam. In fact, he could almost make out two yellowish figures within the mist. Whatever happened to Sam was happening to Andy. And, if Andy’s fire really was connected to the other fires, the yellow haze could very well be involved with those too. A small jolt of horror rolled through Dean at the thought. If Andy burned down his home against his own will...would Sam?

Would Sam try to kill him?

Dean shoved the adder stone back into his pocket, hands trembling. How could he have even dared to think such a thing? Sam wasn’t a monster. Sam was his  _ brother _ , he wasn’t about to murder Dean in cold blood...was he? Then again, if Andy’s story was true, maybe Sam wouldn’t have a choice in the matter.

More than ever, Dean ached to talk to Castiel. He should have been more forthcoming with information before, he should have asked for help before, instead of offering his name like a goddamn idiot. That was why Castiel shut Dean out, probably. He’d realized Dean was weak, pathetic, unable to avoid fae magic. Not even able to avoid whatever human magic Andy employed. Castiel had realized what John already knew about Dean, that he was, at best, mediocre.

No. Dean couldn’t go down this rabbit hole now. They were in the middle of a case, a case potentially connected to Sam’s well-being, and it was Dean’s job to save everyone. Especially his family. Taking a deep breath, Dean slowly made his way back to the bus. As he drew closer, he could hear Sam talking in low, hasty tones. “It’s a rush,” Sam explained earnestly, “When I ignore the rest of it, I’ve never felt so...so  _ powerful _ , y’know?”

“I don’t know if I like it,” Andy admitted softly. “I mean, it’s funny sometimes, and helpful but--” he sighed, “I just don’t know.”

“I like it,” Sam replied. “Though,” he hesitated, “Lately…”

A twig snapped under Dean’s foot and Dean cursed silently as Sam quieted. Something  _ was _ up with Sam and Dean wasn’t entirely sure he would be quite as forthcoming with his hunter brother than a guy who seemed to be some sort of powered up creep. Debating about whether or not to confront his brother now, Dean decided to play it dumb. He raised his hand in a wave as he turned the corner to face Sam and Andy again. “So, we figured out what we’re gonna do with him?”

“Do with  _ me? _ ” Andy squeaked.

“We’re not doing anything to you,” Sam said to Andy, then turned to face Dean. “I think he should come with us.”

“What?” Andy gasped, “Why?”

“You don’t mean to be dangerous,” Sam said, “And we could help you! We’re basically pros at this supernatural stuff.”

“No offense, but if you think I’m going to team up with a couple dudes I just met, dudes who pointed a gun at me,” Andy added, glaring at Dean, “You’re crazy!”

“Andy, please!”

“You could come with me,” Andy said, softening his voice slightly as he turned his attention on Sam, “I know things and you could--”

“--I’m not leaving my brother!” Sam interjected. 

“Don’t make us force you to come with us,” Dean said, “Sam’s puppy dog eyes only work for so long.”

“We’re not going to force him, Dean,” Sam complained.

“What’s the alternative?” Dean retorted, “He burned down a house of civilians! We can’t just let him roam on his own!”

Andy’s shoulders fell. He looked small, drowning in baggy sweats, and afraid. His mouth hardened into a tight line, however, and he looked up at the two of them. “I’m sorry about this, Sam.” 

With that, Andy turned his attention on Dean. “Your worst nightmares are here, Dean.”

There was no protecting against what happened next. Dean caught a glimpse of Sam, who recoiled, horrified. Time seemed to slow as the horror in Sam’s eyes shifted to resignation and Sam pulled a gun, pointing it at Andy. Before anyone could react, Sam shot Andy in the head. Blood splattered everywhere, a scream caught in Dean’s throat.

“I had to do it, Dean,” Sam explained, “He was going to hurt us. He was going to hurt  _ you _ .” 

Dean remained in the van, frozen in place as Sam hopped off the vehicle, wiping away blood on his jacket. It only smeared worse. Dean felt sick to his stomach. They’d killed monsters before, but Andy wasn’t a monster, was he? Dean didn’t think he could sink any lower, but as he looked up in Sam’s face it felt as though the ground had opened up beneath Dean entirely. A smile tugged at Sam’s lips and yellow gleamed behind his eyes. 

In a panic, Dean searched through his pockets, only to find they were empty. Somewhere along the line, maybe in all of the running, he’d dislodged the protection stone. It could be  _ anywhere _ by now and Sam was already starting to be affected. Worst of all, there was no remedying it. Castiel was out of reach.

Nobody was coming to save them.


	14. Weakness

_“I study hatred with great diligence / For that’s a passion in my own control.” --W.B. Yeats_

 

Dean wasn’t sure how he’d managed to fall asleep–he probably just passed out–but when he opened his eyes, he saw Castiel with….himself? Yes, there was Castiel, chatting amiably with another smiling Dean. The forest was familiar, Castiel leaned comfortably against one of the towering redwood trees as he talked.

 _Must be a dream_ , Dean surmised. It could be that Andy’s nightmare hallucinations kicked in after his death. A curl of fear twisted in Dean’s stomach as he remembered Andy being shot in the head by his brother. He’d deal with that hell after...whatever this was. Dean crept in closer, almost afraid of being caught by his doppleganger or the fae. Thankfully, the trees were large enough to shield Dean completely. He tiptoed to the closest possible tree, waiting for the horrifying antics to begin.

Castiel snacked on a strand of grapes, the skins of which were so purple they almost looked like jewels. When there were only two left, Dean’s copy reached for the bunch. The fae, however, snatched them out of his reach, popping both into his mouth.

“You know better,” Castiel chided after he swallowed, though his eyes crinkled fondly, “Eating of my food will only bind you to me.”

Dean’s doppelganger laughed. “You say that like it’s a bad thing, dude. I get to try some of those tasty fae food I keep seeing _and_ I end up bound to you. What’s the downside?”

Dean frowned as he watched his counterpart. Was he enchanted? Why the hell would he be so chill with the idea of being bound to a fae? His counterpart laughed again as Castiel scowled. “You know the downside, Briar.”

“Really?” Dean’s clone sidled up to Castiel, close enough that Dean’s heart began to pound at the thought of himself in that position. It was so casual, so...natural. When was the horror going to begin? “Because the only downside I can see is the fact it would ruin the romantic moment where I tell you my name for the first time.”

Other Dean smiled softly, cupping Castiel’s cheek in his hand. “What are we waiting for, anyway?” he whispered lowly. Dean shivered, finding himself creeping closer despite his better judgement. He didn’t like the feelings brimming in his chest at the sight of this scene. Fear, yes, and confusion...but also desire. Much more desire than he expected.

“I’m only waiting for you to say you want it,” Dean wheedled, his other hand splayed out against Castiel’s chest.

“And _I_ am waiting for you to realize this is a bad idea,” Castiel whispered, though he brushed his nose against Other Dean’s.

Other Dean huffed a laugh. “Who’d have thought that I’d be begging _you_ to let me give you my name?” he grinned, pressing a lazy kiss to Castiel’s mouth. The fae relaxed, kissing back.

Dean watched them with an odd mix of horror and jealousy. He didn’t want to be so intimate with the fae, didn’t want to be on the precipice of...of losing himself, and yet. Dean blinked and the _and yet_ manifested, unbidden. He found himself in Other Dean’s shoes, Castiel’s mouth on his. Dean froze for only a moment before allowing himself to relent to whatever strange dream this was, pressing Castiel against the redwood as he enjoyed the sensation of Castiel wash over him. Castiel’s hands, his lips, his _magic_ , practically overpowering Dean’s crescendoing emotions until--

“Dean! Wake up!” Sam’s voice violently tore Dean from the scene and Dean awoke with the heat of Castiel’s mouth on his.

Dean squinted up at Sam, utterly disoriented as he tried to shove aside the clamor of horror and joy that burned within his chest. He didn’t want to think about whatever the hell _that_ was. Besides, he had plenty to tackle in reality. First things first...where were they? Dean became aware of rocks poking into his back. Okay, so he was definitely on the ground. A headache beat behind his eyes--was that from Andy or the ground--and Sam looked worried.

 _Sam_. The person who had murdered Andy in cold blood.

Without meaning to, Dean tried to scramble away from his brother, scraping his hands on the rocky ground. “Where’s Andy?”

Sam frowned, his lips pinched tight. “He got away.”

“He survived?” Dean slowed his scramble, glancing around. They were still near the graveyard, but Andy’s VW Bus was nowhere to be seen. Had Sam disposed of it when Dean was passed out? Heart pounding, Dean shoved his hands in his pockets to discover, to his eternal relief, that Castiel’s stone still remained on his person. Thank _god_. Relief trickled through Dean’s veins; if he still had the stone, it was possible that Sam hadn’t actually murdered Andy.

Maybe Andy’s hallucinations had started earlier than Dean expected.

“Yeah,” Sam grimaced, “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Any other hunt, I probably would have been able to catch him. But I...I dunno, I faltered at the wrong time? And it just,” he sighed, “feels like I’m out of my rhythm.”

Dean pushed to standing, patting Sam’s shoulder awkwardly. He was still shaky from two back-to-back nightmares, especially given their vastly different tones. What’s more Dean had Sam to console and a supernaturally powered dude to track down. “We’re probably just out of practice,” Dean said, “Besides, if you didn’t pass out, I’d say you did better than me by a long shot.”

“What did you see, anyway?” Sam asked quietly as they made their way back to the Impala.

“What, did I scream like a little girl?” Dean huffed a laugh in an attempt to forget the unbidden image of Sam’s blood smeared smile.

Sam frowned. “No. You stared at me like you didn’t even know me.”

“And then you...tried to fight Andy?”

“Are you kidding? I could barely resist his magic mind control to run.” Sam glowered at the ground, kicking at the rocks as Dean unlocked the Impala. Sam pouted as they drove, not even relenting as they pulled into a small diner in town. Food always raised Dean’s spirits, but it was hard to tell what would cheer Sam up.

Still, Dean insisted they order the works: large burgers, milkshakes and plenty of french fries. It was the opposite of what John would do; with their dad, a failed hunt rarely meant a good meal. True to form, the hot diner food was more than enough to push all of Dean’s nightmares away, leaving Dean in relatively high spirits.

Sam, on the other hand, only picked at his food, even pushing his half eaten burger over to Dean.

Dean stared down at the burger, taking a large gulp of Sam’s milkshake as he tried to decide what to say. There were so many questions and Sam was so rarely forthcoming. Dean had hoped treating their failure differently than John would help his brother feel comfortable, but nothing Dean did seemed to help.

Maybe it was time to be direct.

Pushing the burger back to Sam, Dean chanced the question that had been bothering him most. “How is it that you could resist Andy at all?” Dean asked hesitantly, not even daring to look his brother in the eye. “I mean, I don’t scare easy but when it came to my mind he just…” Dean shivered, “walked right in.”

Sam chewed his lower lip, pulling back his shake only to stir the straw in the half melted mess. He chanced a furtive glance at Dean, then another. The silence stretched, leaving Dean longing to fill in the gaps, to provide some sort of answer or reassurance, though he worried if he broke the silence, Sam wouldn’t speak at all.

When the silence practically enveloped them, Dean snapped, adding a desperate, “You can trust me, man.”

Sam’s eyes jerked up to Dean and he dropped the straw in the milkshake. “You think I’m hiding something?”

“No!”

“Did you ever just consider the fact I’m _stronger_ than you?” Sam tugged the straw out of the milkshake, pointing it at Dean. Melted shake splattered onto the table. “Just because you’re older doesn’t mean you’re better than me!”

Dean didn’t know what to do. He stared at Sam, torn between irritation and worry. _I’m not Dad,_ he was bristling to say, _I’m not your enemy_. In fact, Dean had spent years trying to regain Sam’s trust, years doing nothing but looking out for his younger brother’s well-being. It stung that even now, even without John, Sam didn’t trust him.

The straw wobbled in Sam’s hand, slipping to the table with a wet _splat_. Groaning, Sam clasped his hands to his forehead. “Shit, Dean, I’m sorry,” he mumbled, “I don’t know what came over me.”

“You need some aspirin or something?”

“No,” Sam said, pushing back his chair with a loud squeak. “I’m sure I’m fine.”

But he wobbled when he stood, as though unsure if he could keep himself upright. With a clatter, Dean scrambled to Sam’s side, grabbing his brother’s arm to ensure he didn’t fall. “Yeah, pretty sure this isn’t what fine looks like,” Dean said, carefully guiding Sam out of the restaurant. He felt a twinge of guilt, leaving their food on the table, but it was kind of an emergency.

Sam opted to lay out in the back seat, at least, as well as someone who was over six feet tall could. In minutes, he was asleep. Unsure of where to go, but itching to leave, Dean picked a direction and just _drove_ , opting to head west. He had no idea where Andy went, but if Dean was Andy, he’d definitely be tempted to drive to the closest place to get lost in: Las Vegas. Besides, if nothing else, there would be a hospital available if something had actually happened to Sam.

Had something happened to Sam? It was possible resisting Andy had sapped his energy, Dean felt achy and he didn’t even do much resisting, or maybe Sam had done something else? His eyes could have glowed and he could have...well, Dean didn’t know what. And he didn’t know how to figure out, either. Sam wasn’t being forthcoming, Cas seemed to be out of the picture, John...well, even if John was remotely forgiving if Dean got ahold of him, his attitude about what constituted a monster were worrisome. It didn’t leave Dean many resources, though maybe he could try to go after Cas...get lost in another forest…

The memory of their slightly more passionate kiss arose, unbidden, in Dean’s mind. He wasn’t sure what terrified him more, the fact he’d gotten intimate with a fae, their casual banter or the fact he absolutely wanted to give Castiel his name. And not even in an enchanted way, either. Castiel wasn’t alarmed and he wasn’t actively asking for Dean’s name...Dean just...seemed to want to give it.

But he didn’t. That wasn’t true. Dean was smart, he wasn’t about to give up his name to his supernatural spells dealer. Sure, maybe he’d gotten friendly with the fae, but that was it. Just friends. Castiel was just a friend with a hot voice and an even hotter body and a kiss that was _literally_ magic and–

–if they found Andy, Dean was definitely gonna punch him in the face. Sending Dean fantasies about a friend was totally below the belt!

Dean spent the remainder of the drive furiously trying _not_ to think of Castiel.

Eventually, they found a motel on the outskirts of Vegas. The sun was completely set as Dean helped a drowsy Sam out of the car. “Rise and shine, princess,” Dean said as he helped Sam into their western themed room, “Or, y’know, not, because it’s almost time for bed.”

Sam groaned. “How long was I asleep?”

“The entire drive.”

Sam ran a hand over his face as he plopped onto the bed. “Guess resisting Andy sapped more of my strength than I assumed.”

“Well, y’know,” Dean rubbed his neck awkwardly, “You were still stronger than me.”

Sam buried his head in a pillow. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

Furtively, Dean plopped down next to him. "You, uh. Want to….talk...about it?” The words came slowly and haltingly; Dean wasn’t sure if that exact sequence of words had ever been uttered in Winchester history.

“Dunno how,” Sam’s face remained in the pillow, “I used to feel really strong and now I...don’t? Or I do, sometimes, a bit, but it only comes in tiny spurts.”

“Do you need to be strong?”

Sam sat up. “Of course! I’m a hunter!”

“I’m a hunter too!”

“Dude, you passed out as soon as Andy even started to try something on you,” Sam crossed his arms over his pillow.

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. Why did this always turn into a fight? Even after The Incident, he and Sam rarely fought. Not about big things, anyway. “Look,” he shifted to better face Sam, “I just want to help you if something’s happening.”

“Nothing’s happening!”

“You just said–”

“And what I meant was even at my weakest, I’m still stronger than you.”

Dean dropped onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling. Maybe Sam was right. Maybe he was just doomed to be a sub-par older brother. Years of looking out for his younger brother all down the tube for one moment of cowardice. It could be that John had been right about the constant need for vigilance. Regardless, Dean couldn’t fix the past, only what was in front of them.

“What’s next in our game plan?” he asked, “With this arson case. Do we try to go after Andy or track down another potential mind bender.”

“Neither.”

“You done hunting?”

“Hell no,” Sam retorted vehemently, “I just think maybe we need to practice on a lighter case. Find our rhythm before we try to take on something as difficult as Andy or the likes.”

Dean was quiet. “You think we should tell Dad about Andy’s case?”

“Why would we do that?”

“Dunno. It might be too big for both of us.”

Sam punched his pillow. “It’s not too big. I just need to practice.”

Although they dropped the conversation, the statement filled Dean with unease. It was a feeling that didn’t dissipate, even as they began a cross-country roadtrip to a ghost case in Wisconsin. To _practice_.

Thankfully, the drive mellowed Sam out again and he quickly slid back into the role of cheerful younger brother, but Dean couldn’t help but keep his suspicions close. Every night he furtively checked Sam’s sleeping form with the adder stone and every night it seemed as though the yellow forces were just barely held at bay. Dean made sure to keep the stone close, but nothing seemed to help.

As they prepared for the hunt, Dean rarely left Sam’s side. He could barely bring himself to try researching the mysterious yellow haze while they studied in the library together. Even when Dean took those risks, it hardly mattered. None of the books he dug through had anything to say about yellow haze that gave people weird powers. Alone in the stack of books, Dean found himself once again longing for Castiel’s guidance.

He hadn’t even visited Castiel in sleep for over a week.

Still, despite Dean’s misgivings, the hunt went relatively smoothly. Sam and Dean made convincing enough FBI agents; Dean even found, to his surprise, that without John’s judgement, he could both comfort victims and get information from them. Sam still played hardball, but he wasn’t nearly as heartless as when he worked alongside John. Really, Dean and Sam made a good team. Their leads were helpful, guiding them to what seemed to be a haunted pond.

Then all hell broke loose.

The monster in question, a naiad who was furious at the idea of her pond being intruded on, attacked. She was pale, almost translucent, with long greenish hair that drifted around her body like seaweed. Her grip was surprisingly strong and she managed to catch Dean by the neck. Down into the pond they dove, Dean scrabbling against her hand in an attempt to escape. Air was running out, he was beginning to feel lightheaded when--they both began to rise out of the water.

As Dean’s head broke the surface, he caught sight of Sam. His brother’s arm was outstretched, his nose bloody, eyes glowing yellow. Dean’s heart caught in his throat and for a moment, his own death didn’t scare him as much as his brother did. What the hell was happening? Shouldn’t the stone be working?

Of course, there was no time to check. They naiad flailed as she was raised further still from the water and her grip on Dean’s neck loosened just enough for him to slip out. He landed in the mud with a splash, scrambling to draw his knife.

“ _Shit!”_ Sam cried and Dean turned to see his brother lower to his knees, head in his hands. Dean forgot the naiad entirely, protective instincts rising in his chest as he tried to make his way to Sam, to figure out what had happened, to--

An icy hand wrapped around Dean’s ankle and Dean realized, too late, that whatever Sam had been doing to the naiad had stopped. A strong tug sent Dean back down into the depths, but before he could sink too far, Dean jammed his silver blade into the naiad’s wrist. A scream bubbled through the water. Taking advantage of the distraction, Dean wrenched the blade away and dove down further. The naiad’s eyes widened in surprise, but before she could react, Dean plunged the blade into her heart.

When Dean surfaced, he was relieved to find Sam upright. He splashed to his brother in a soggy, ungainly sprint, boots soaked with pond water and muck. “Are you okay?”

Sam, however, jerked away. “I knew it! You make it harder for me to hunt!”

“I– _what?_ ” Dean bristled, adrenaline from his near death still pumping through him. There was no way he was reverting to diplomacy now. “I’m the one who killed that thing!”

“Because of me!”

“Because of that creepy glowing eyes thing?” Dean laughed darkly. “What a relief.” Out of habit he checked his pocket for the stone. It was still there, albeit less polished than before, and Dean clenched it in his fist. “Were you ever gonna come clean about that?”

“There’s nothing to come clean about.”

“Oh, really? You mean, aside from the freaky glowing thing and the even freakier telekinesis or whatever...you didn’t think that maybe after we _just_ took on a case with a guy with glowing eyes--”

“See, _this_ is why I didn’t tell you!” Sam shouted, “I just saved your ass and instead of thanking me you’re treating me like a monster!”

“You think this is treating you like a monster?” Dean’s heart rate soared. He knew he should stop, should let them both cool down, but the unease that had been prickling at the edges of his mind was bursting, “If I treated you the way Dad treats monsters, you’d be _dead!_ ”

“I’d like to see you try!” Sam’s eyes glowed again and he reached out a hand. Dean stumbled as though he’d been pushed. Blood poured from Sam’s nose again and he dropped his hand, swearing.

Dean should have seen him as a monster, but even after having Sam try to direct...whatever his power was at Dean, all Dean could see was his younger brother. He rushed forwards, helping catch Sam before he nearly toppled over. “I’m not Dad,” Dean croaked. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I don’t wanna hurt you either,” Sam whispered, hanging his head in his hoodie, “I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

The drive back to their motel was a somber one. Dean wanted to help his brother, of course he did, but he couldn’t help but be scared too. Sam was right, something was happening to him. The stone seemed to help, but not entirely. Not enough. There was only one person Dean trusted to help them, only one person who could, and while Dean couldn’t physically make it to Castiel’s side, he might still be able to reach him in his dreams.

After Sam had fallen asleep, Dean withdrew the adder stone, as well as Castiel’s blue protection stone. Looping a thin cord of leather through the adder stone, Dean was able to form a necklace, one where the adder stone could lay flat against his chest. He liked the cold smoothness of the stone against his skin. As Dean sat in bed, adder stone around his neck, protection stone in his hand, Dean tentatively tried to fit the blue stone into the center of the adder. To his surprise, it fit.

Castiel’s magic seemed to linger on Dean’s senses, like a storm on the distant horizon and he fell asleep easily. When Dean opened his eyes to find a lush green forest, he breathed a sigh of relief. The leaves of the bushes were still damp from rainfall, clouds lingering over the trees. Still, in an odd sort of way, it felt like he was home. As Dean looked down at his dream self, he was surprised to find the amulet still strung around his neck.

When he caught sight of Castiel, Dean burst into a run. It was as though the sun had parted through the clouds and pierced Deans’ very soul. He hadn’t realized how much he missed Castiel, how many questions he had to ask--as Dean reached for Castiel, the fae whirled around.

His blue eyes widened and the fae took a step away from Dean.

“Castiel?” Dean asked, unable to keep the hope from his voice.

“Briar,” Castiel glanced briefly around the forest, then fixed his gaze on Dean. “Do not take this the wrong way, but...what the  _hell?_ ”


	15. Visions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey hey! We've officially got a projected end in sight!

_ “You would come hither, and bend your head, / And I would lay my head on your breast; / And you would murmur tender words” --W.B. Yeats _

 

“I know you’re not happy to see me,” Dean began, but Castiel cut him off, wrapping him in the best sort of hug he could manage, given Dean was kind of ghostly. Still, it was nice. Comforting, even, in an odd sort of way. A thrill of horror spiked in Dean’s heart as he remembered the dream, however, and he pulled away.

“I do not want to be happy to see you,” Castiel admitted, hanging his head. His crown looked slightly withered, though the green jade still sat prominently in the center. “But I must admit, I have missed your presence.”

“Why send me away, then?”

Castiel fixed Dean with a hard glare. “I already  _ told _ you, it is not safe for you in my realm. There are dark forces at work now,” he said, pacing the green forest. Castiel stopped short, whirling around to face Dean again. “How did you get here, anyway?”

Dean shrugged. “How do I ever get here in my dreams?”

The fae pursed his lips, blue eyes narrowing. “But you should not have been able to access my realm at all. What magic did you use?”

“None?”

“None?” Castiel’s frown deepened. “That cannot be, the only way you could…” he shook his head, “It is not possible.”

Dean hung his head. Sure, he probably should have expected this line of questioning, after all, Castiel was the one who had turned him away to begin with, but still. Deep down, Dean had hoped he could at least find reprieve in Castiel’s sanctuary. After everything that happened with Sam... _ Sam _ .

Even now, with Sam’s pressing problem, Dean had almost forgotten about his brother. 

“I need help,” Dean blurted out, “You’re the only one who can help me.”

Castiel’s brow furrowed, he mumbled something about  _ desperation _ to himself as he slowly wandered back to Dean. Up close, Dean could feel hints of Castiel’s full power and although the fae did not look happy, Dean couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. If anyone could save Sam, it would be Castiel. 

“What do you need so desperately that you...you…” Castiel paused, searching, “You  _ strong-armed _ your way back into my realm?”

“My brother is still in danger.”

“Did he not come in contact with my protection spell? Surely that would repel any force you and your brother would come across.”

“Even yellow smoke?” Dean demanded.

Castiel took a step forwards. “What did you say?”

“Yellow smoke,” Dean repeated, “Surrounding my brother, even with the stone. And sometimes he–” Dean took a deep breath, bringing up the memory of Sam’s eyes glowing yellow, “–does stuff,” he finished lamely.

“Like what?”

Dean hung his head. “His eyes glow yellow. And he, uh, I guess he sorta can levitate shit?” Dean purposely left out how scary Sam could get. How much Sam looked like something from his nightmares. “But he’s not a monster!” he added desperately. “Sometimes he’s himself. But sometimes…”

“It is like he has been overtaken,” Castiel finished grimly. 

Good. Castiel seemed to have an idea of whatever it was that affected Sam, which meant he could help. He could do things to save Dean’s brother. “You can stop it, right?”

“I do not know.”

“You  _ what? _ ”

“Briar, not only is this complicated, but it might already be too late.”

“Like hell it is!” Dean cried, “I’m not giving up on Sam!”

At the mention of Sam’s name, Sam’s  _ real _ name, Dean’s eyes widened and he clapped a hand over his mouth. Could Castiel take him now, just with a name? Would he? “I didn’t mean to,” Dean started, “Please don’t–”

“It is not your brother I desire, Briar,” Castiel replied solemnly, his blue eyes piercing Dean’s very core. Even Dean could read between the lines with that statement, a shiver running up his spine, warmth blooming in his chest and  _ want _ catching in his throat. Dean took a shaky breath, trying to pull himself together. He couldn’t lose sight of the end goal. Not now.

“I need to save him, Castiel,” Dean implored. “Please. He’s my  _ brother _ .”

Groaning, Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose. “Even attempting a diagnosis of your brother’s condition would be highly dangerous.”

“Why?”

Castiel glanced at Dean. “The explanation is too complicated, I fear our connection could be interrupted in dream form.”

“Then let me visit.”

“Briar.”

“I sleep-walked to your realm once, right?” Dean said quickly, “I could do it again, if you let me.” He wanted to say his eagerness was entirely due to the hopes of saving Sam, but Dean couldn’t help but jump at the thought at being able to return to Castiel’s side at will. 

“You didn’t want me involved,” Dean pushed harder, “But I already am, with my brother and all. So let me  _ help _ ! And, uh, you can help me.” 

Granted, that final argument was flimsy at best. After all, Dean could hardly offer what Castiel did. Not to mention, the reason Castiel cast Dean out at all had to do with the fact the fae wanted to protect him. Still, Dean needed this. 

Castiel, however, did not look convinced. “I will do my best to explain it now,” he said instead, “Though I will still need to tap into your mind.”

He reached out a hand, waiting expectantly for Dean. Disappointed, Dean gave a nod. He knew, technically, answers were all he really needed, but Dean still longed for he tug of Castiel’s home in his bones again. Castiel’s hand brushed against Dean’s forehead. “I apologize if this is disconcerting,” Castiel said, though he was drowned out by a flash of light.

When Dean’s eyes adjusted, he found they were no longer in the forest. Instead, they stood in a large room with vaulted ceilings. The pillars were made of gold, the walls were silver and the floor a polished white marble. A fae walked quickly down the halls, his bare feet making naught a sound. This fae was different than the others Dean had seen; less stunning and otherworldly and more...creepy. He shouldn’t have felt so alarming, his hair was neatly combed in a style reminiscent of a middle-aged businessman, but as Dean looked closer, it was apparent his robe was stained. 

Dean couldn’t help but shrink away.

To his surprise, he bumped into a fully solid Castiel, who wrapped an arm around Dean’s shoulder. Leaning into the touch, Dean didn’t try to pull away. After all, the place was creepy. And maybe arms over shoulders meant something more platonic to fae. Castiel kept his eyes trained on the other man, but he spoke softly. “You are experiencing a memory, so everything will feel real.” 

“Where are we?” Dean whispered.

“The inner palace,” Castiel replied, “It is primarily the gathering place of The Order. This happened almost…” he paused, cocking his head thoughtfully as the other fae continued down the lengthy room, “I think now it would be a quarter of a century ago, based on human measurements of time. There was unease in our realms, talk of dark machinations, and as leader of a group operating outside The Order, I was to investigate.”

Castiel nudged Dean along and they followed the other fae to the front of the large room, where a massive oak table laden with food and drink stood. Behind the feast sat another fae. He had crimson wings that fell all the way to the floor, feathers long and silky and his robe was pure white, save for a red rose pinned to the front. Dean instantly shrank away, grateful for Castiel’s body against his.

The fae stood. “Azazel,” he crooned as the middle-aged fae bowed.

“Lucifer,” Azazel replied, head still pointing downward, “I have news.”

Lucifer made his way around the table, running his finger along the sleek wood. “Is it good news?”

As Lucifer approached Azazel, he brought two fingers under Azazel’s chin, lifting the other fae’s head upwards. Azazel stood, smiling. To Dean’s horror, his eyes glowed yellow. “Better than we expected,” he growled, “They are...surprisingly malleable. Even in death.”

Lucifer’s eyes widened. “Does anyone else know?”

Azazel blinked, the yellow glow disappeared. “No.”

“Good.”

The scene froze, sliding out of view like water on a glass, only to be replaced with a dirty alleyway, lit by a single streetlight. Crumpled wrappers and old newspapers swirled in a small gust of wind. A rusted chain link fence rattled nearby, and the streetlight flickered intermittently. Dean hadn’t realized how much he was trembling until Castiel pressed him to his chest. “Is this too much?”

_ Yes _ , Dean wanted to croak. All of his old nightmares, all of his new fears, they were all starting to coalesce into beings far more powerful and certainly far more frightening. He hated that the mere memory of these fae held this much sway over him, but Dean needed answers. And Castiel’s presence was like a clear spring after breathing in a mouthful of chemicals. It was clean, familiar, comforting. 

“It is going to get worse,” Castiel whispered, “Fae powers always affect humans more than other fae. But I will keep you close.”

Dean nodded. He shifted, pressing his back against Castiel’s chest and holding onto Castiel’s arms, which were wrapped tight around Dean’s chest. The alley was quiet and Dean waited for a fae to materialize when a human rounded the far away corner and raced towards the fence, towards the outskirts of the city. The man’s face was hard to see, obscured by a hat, but Dean could hear his pounding footfalls and heavy breathing clearly. He stumbled, tripping over a cardboard box and landing on the ground with a thud.

_ Clap. Clap. Clap. _

Another person, this time a woman, rounded the corner to the alley. The man scrambled to his feet and tried to resume running when a shadowy form latched onto his leg, sending him falling again. The woman laughed. The man stood once again, but the shadowy form wrapped around him, squeezing up his calves and thighs.

In desperation, the man pulled a gun from his jacket, pointing at the woman. She smirked, the shadow trailing up his chest and arms, forcing the gun from his hand. He opened his mouth in a scream–the shadow jerked, breaking his neck with a loud  _ crack _ .

Dean cried out in horror. Castiel pressed him closer, but the memory continued. 

As the shadow withdrew from the corpse, the woman approached him, kneeling to inspect the body. With a swift gesture, she plunged her hand into his chest and withdrew his heart, blood dripping down her arm. 

Hunting was a messy job and Dean had seen a lot of things, but even he felt sick to his stomach.

There was a flap of wings and Lucifer appeared before her. His white robe was now lined with gold, the rose pinned to his chest shriveled. At the sight of him, the woman bowed, holding the heart above her head like an offering. Lucifer took it. Darkness swirled, consuming the heart in his hand before rushing into the fae’s chest. As the heart disappeared completely, Lucifer’s eyes glowed yellow. Dean trembled as the fae smiled, turning to stare right at him. The yellow eyes seemed to pierce Dean’s soul, similar to the way Castiel did, though Castiel’s intrusion felt comforting. Lucifer’s was an invasion.

Dean didn’t even realize he was screaming until he pressed his face into Castiel’s chest and the sounds muffled. The fae held him tight and Dean felt the oddest sensation of feathers against his arms. He looked up to find Castiel’s wings manifest, the dark feathers shielding Dean from the rest of the memory.

“I am sorry, Briar,” Castiel whispered, “I do not...I…” he took a shuddering breath, “I don’t know why you were so affected by these memories. Fae powers are potent, but this...it shouldn’t have hurt you so badly.”

Dean sniffled. As the scene drained slowly from his mind and Castiel’s protective warmth filled the empty spaces, it did seem strange that he’d been such a coward. Screaming and hugging his friend? Thank god John didn’t see him, that behavior was beyond pathetic. Still, Dean didn’t try to leave Castiel’s embrace. He was still shivering, even now. 

“What  _ was _ that?” Dean asked, hating the tremors in his voice.

“There are many sources of power for a fae,” Castiel began, “The biggest is our realm. I, like my brothers and sisters, am in a symbiotic relationship with the places I call home. I protect them, care for them, and in return, they strengthen me. But there is another source of power, one most fae have been drawing on for centuries. Human hearts.”

Dean shuddered. “They eat–”

“ _ No _ ,” Castiel interjected fiercely, “The ancient ways did not involve harming a human. Taking a companion, that’s how the power comes. There’s still payment in return, of course. That is the way fae are meant to exist, nothing comes without proper payment. Fae give the humans blessings, or extend their lives, heal their infirmaries…” Castiel sighed, “There are still complications with taking human companions, but the fact remains that most only draw from the heart’s power in a metaphorical sense.”

“Then…” Dean swallowed, “Why did Lucifer…”

“Lucifer wanted power without payment,” Castiel growled, “And learned that human hearts could provide an immediate burst. But what he didn’t realize is that  _ everything _ comes with a price. Stealing a human’s heart might give him power, but it corrupts. And twenty five years ago, Lucifer and Azazel not only corrupted themselves, they corrupted their realms. Neglected, their realms were  _ dying _ . And the corruption threatened to spread.”

“The corruption,” Dean murmured, “Is that what happened to the yellow-eyed woman?”

Castiel hummed. “You are insightful. Fae like Azazel and Lucifer do not want to dirty their hands, so they found humans to do their work.”

“How?” Dean cried, “My brother wouldn’t try to murder innocent people!”

“We never figured out how they corrupted humans,” Castiel replied softly, “My best guess is they were imbued with fae blood; it would give humans certain characteristics–”

“–like that shadow thing?”

“Exactly. The humans gain a semblance of fae magic, but with fae blood running through their veins, I believe it makes humans even more susceptible to fae influence.” Castiel sighed, “Unfortunately, it’s all theory. We never figured out how they were doing it. We didn’t even know  _ what _ they were doing. Not really.”

“What? Why not?”

Castiel sighed, resting his chin against Dean’s head. “There was an unfortunate complication.”

He unfurled his wings to reveal that the scene had changed. They were back in the opulent room, though now it was filled with fae, all clamoring. A shining golden line separated the masses from five fae, who sat at the now empty oak table. Dean recognized a few. Michael, the creepy, suit-clad fae, sat in the center. His hair was slicked back and he still wore a suit. To his right was Gabriel, who Dean also recognized, his golden wings fluffed. And to Michael’s left...Dean’s stomach dropped.

It was  _ Lucifer _ .

“While we were able to stop Azazel,” Castiel said sadly, “accusing a member of The Order did not go unpunished.”

The scene shifted again, plunging them into darkness. It was emptiness as far as the eye could see. Castiel’s breathing quickened, Dean could feel the fae’s chest rise and fall faster than before. Instinctively, Dean reached up to grip Castiel’s hand, squeezing it tight.

A fae appeared. Her hair was pulled into a tight bun and she wore a simple grey robe. She did not smile. 

“Naomi,” Castiel’s voice rang out in the memory, “Please. You have to believe me. Lucifer–”

“–is an esteemed member of The Order,” Naomi interjected calmly, “Was that what you were going to say, Castiel?”

“No!”

“Pity,” Naomi said in a voice devoid of emotion, “You still resist your re-education.” 

She waved her hand and over a dozen long needles appeared, hovering like a swarm of bees. Dean felt Castiel tug them both backwards. Naomi snapped her fingers, the sound echoing in the emptiness, and the needles flew towards them.

Castiel’s screams filled the memory. 

And Dean awoke in his bed. His simple, mundane, certainly-not-in-the-fae-realm motel bed. It took Dean a groggy moment to figure out what had happened, his heart dropping as he realized Castiel was no longer beside him. The connection had broken. Dean had just abandoned his best friend to a set of memories that had traumatized him. Desperately, Dean closed his eyes, wrapping his fingers around the stone amulet around his neck, but sleep did not come. Instead, Dean lay in the creaky bed with a headache and a heart full of sorrow.

When he could take it no longer, Dean pushed out of bed. He glared at the clock on the nightstand–there was no reason for him to be awake at five AM–and stumbled towards his duffel bag to retrieve some aspirin. As he swallowed the pills dry, Dean watched his brother sleep. Was Sam really capable of ripping out the heart of an innocent human? Dean didn’t want to believe it, he couldn’t...but still, the memory of Sam’s glowing eyes haunted him.

How was he supposed to help his brother? How could he even  _ tell _ his brother? Dean wasn’t sure if Sam knew about the fae connection or not. Wait. Fae connection.  _ Mary _ had a connection to the fae, that was how she disappeared! Dean rubbed his temples, considering the coincidence. The way John talked about Mary, she was kind and brilliant and simply a victim of the vicious fae. But Dean realized, for the first time, he had no idea what his mother was truly like. 

She might have had a hand in Sam’s transformation.

Or she might not. Dean knew firsthand that the universe was fickle and sometimes, bad luck befell people who didn’t need any more misfortune.

Dean groaned, cracking a beer as he weighed the difficult steps forward. He could tell Sam and hope his brother was as interested in finding a cure as Dean was. He could lie, try to trick Sam into going to Castiel’s realm in the hopes that the fae could help. Or maybe, Dean didn’t do anything, waiting until he could return to Castiel’s side alone. 

Whatever happened, however, he needed to ensure Sam didn’t go full darkside. The last thing they needed was to end up on the radar of other hunters. Dean might never hurt Sam, but complete strangers would look at Sam and see a monster. They wouldn’t hesitate in pulling the trigger.

A loud knock pulled Dean from his stressful musings. Sam sat up, glancing around with sleepy confusion. Dean froze. The banging continued, then stopped short. That couldn’t be good; Dean scrambled for his gun, just managing to wrap his hand around the grip when the door cracked open. A man stood in the doorway, dropping whatever heavy object he’d used to break down the door and tugging out a shotgun. Dean’s heart ran cold.

“You boys really thought you could run from me?” John growled.


	16. Run

_ “Now all the truth is out, / Be secret and take defeat” --W.B. Yeats _

 

Of all the problems Dean had been preparing for, John finding them wasn’t one. He knew this was an oversight spurred by the naive hope that if they didn’t think it would happen, it wouldn’t. Dean cursed. They hadn’t they even considered an escape plan if they were cornered by their dad. Judging by the shotgun, John didn’t look to be particularly understanding.

Still, Dean couldn’t bring himself to raise his gun. He kept his hand on the trigger, but the barrel pointed to the floor. As awful as John was, he was still their father; Dean doubted he would be able to shoot him point blank. He glanced backwards at Sam, who had raised his hands in a sort of surrender.

“What do you want?” Dean asked.

John walked into the motel room. Dean stepped back, shielding Sam. He might not be able to bring himself to shoot their dad, but Dean could at least take a bullet for Sam. Maybe buy his brother enough time to escape. To Dean’s surprise, Sam scrambled out of bed, tugging the lamp on the nightstand out of its plug and wielding it like a weapon. When Sam wasn’t being scary, his cleverness was downright admirable.

“What do you think?” John barked a laugh, “You boys ran off.”

“So you want us to come back?” Sam asked tentatively.

“Didn’t let me finish, Sam,” John chided, shifting to adjust his aim, “You boys ran off with basically everything I own. Can’t exactly let that thieving slide, can I?”

“So, what?” Dean asked, “You take the car and leave us be?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” John snarled, swaying slightly. Great. Not only was their dad furious, he was also tipsy. That could go either way...but the chances of things ending well were slowly draining away. Tipsy John was a violent John, more times than not. “You take my son just like you take my wife?”

Dean froze. 

“Dean didn’t do anything to Mom!” Sam shouted, “Or me, for that matter.”

“Shut up, Sam,” John snapped, “You don’t know anything about what happened to Mary.”

“I know she was taken by a fae,” Sam replied, stepping out in front of Dean. Dean reached for his arm, trying to tug his brother behind him, but Sam resisted. “And I know for a fact it wasn’t Dean’s fault!”

Dean squirmed. He didn’t remember much of that moment in time, he couldn’t remember  _ why _ he was outside, just that his mom told him to stand very still and not move until Dad came for him. Then she’d walked into the forest. Dean’s last memory of Mary was trying his best to stand very still as he watched his mother leave. Sometimes, it did feel like his fault.

“You didn’t see him as a child, leading your mother out to the forest.” John turned to stare down Dean, “You never had an interest in that forest ‘til the night your mother disappeared. I don’t know what you did, how you got taken in by those creatures–”

“You’re not making sense, Dad!” Sam cried, “Dean was a  _ child! _ ”

“And now he’s gotten to you!” John snapped, “Persuaded you to leave your family.”

So John thought the problem was Dean. That was a relief. In fact, Dean realized, he’d prefer their dad think he was the awful one, not Sam. Keeping Sam safe was Dean’s number one priority, especially now. If Dean could figure out a way for Sam to run...a way to distract John...

“You think that was  _ Dean? _ ” Sam barked a laugh, “Dean’s the reason we stayed by your side as long as we did.” 

Damn it.

“What do you want, Dad?” Dean asked quietly in an attempt to talk both of them down. His brother and father had always been prone to arguments, but most of those didn’t include John wielding a loaded shotgun. Still, Dean set down his gun, taking a careful step towards their dad, “Do you want us to stay with you?” Another step. “Because it’s hard to tell with that gun.” Another step.

“I want my sons to show me some goddamned  _ respect _ .” Without warning, John slammed the butt of the gun into Dean’s chest. There was a  _ crack _ , the air rushed from Dean’s lungs and he stumbled to the floor. Dean reached a hand to his chest, trying to feel for what had made the sound. His fingers brushed against the stone amulet tucked under his shirt and without thinking, Dean reached down to touch it.

The adder stone appeared to be intact but the protection stone was split in two.  _ No _ . Not here, not now. The last thing they needed was for Sam’s eyes to start glowing and for him to go all  _ evil fae _ in front of John. 

“Stay away from Dean!” Sam cried from behind Dean. Dean looked up to see John huff a laugh.

“Well, you’re already less of a coward than your brother, aiming that thing at me,” John nodded. Dean twisted, scrambling to his feet to find Sam had picked up the gun he’d abandoned. “But I still don’t think you’ve got what it takes to pull the trigger.”

Sam’s mouth tightened, his eyes taking on the same hardened resolve Dean had seen in the past. A resolve he’d seen when Sam wasn’t near Castiel’s protection. For a moment, Dean remembered Castiel’s warning that saving Sam might be too late. He also remembered the shadow-woman, the way she’d ripped a man’s heart from his chest, unflinching. Maybe it had been too late for her, but Sam had something she didn’t: Dean.

Dean lunged, grabbing Sam’s hands in an attempt to wrench the gun free. Sam tugged back, a glare forming on his face, but Dean did not relent. He might not like John, but he didn’t want his father to die. They fought harder, Dean hoping and praying John wouldn’t do anything stupid, when the gun went off.

_ Bang. _

Fire burned through Dean’s thigh. Sam’s eyes widened–his expression had returned to something more gentle, more familiar–and he dropped the gun. Fingers trembling, Dean reached down to touch his left thigh. Blood soaked his jeans, but as Dean probed his leg, he realized at least the bullet wasn’t lodged into his body. It had grazed him, but as far as gun injuries went, it was kind of the best possible option. 

John chuckled darkly. “If you boys are done fighting, I think it’s time to get in the car.”

“You can’t want us back!” Sam snapped.

“For better or worse, you’re family. So get in the damn car before I shoot you.”

Dean groaned, gripping his thigh. He’d hoped beyond hope that he could help Sam escape and then follow suit, but this sort of injury would be sure to slow him down. Sure, adrenaline would help for a bit, but Dean feared it might not be long enough. After all, they’d been gone for weeks and John had still tracked them down.

It was possible John was bluffing with the shotgun. He might not actually shoot either of them. But the odds of that weren’t high enough for Dean to make any gambles. His only hope now was to try to talk their way out of this situation. (Not that those odds were any better, just more doable with a grazed thigh.)

“What do you really want, Dad? Some sort of apology? A punishment? Do you really want us back?” Dean winced as he mentioned returning. If living with John had been hard before, Dean didn’t want to imagine life with John post runaway. 

“I want you boys to get in the car.”

“Or what?” Sam snapped defiantly, “You really think you can shoot me?”

“I think I can shoot Dean.”

Silence fell. Dean’s heart twisted in his chest. He knew John preferred Sam, of course, but learning his own father was willing to shoot him over his brother wasn’t easy. Especially because, deep down, Dean loved John. He’d hoped John secretly loved him too. 

“You really shouldn’t have said that,” Sam said coldly and before Dean could react, he raised a hand. His eyes glowed yellow. And John flew across the room, hitting the motel wall with a nasty  _ crack _ . 

“Sam!” Dean shouted, running towards their Dad, who lay limp against the damaged motel wall. A small trickle of blood ran down John’s temple, but he still had a pulse and his chest still rose and fell. Still alive, at least. Dean breathed a sigh of relief. He didn’t know how he’d handle his brother murdering their dad.

“What?” Sam grunted, wandering across the room to put on his shoes. “He deserved it.”

Sam handed the pistol to Dean, tugging on a jacket before he retrieved the shotgun from John. John stirred. He might have hit the wall hard, but not hard enough to be out for that long. Dean froze, pistol sitting in his hands, trying to figure out what came next. He had Sam to take care of, John to run from, Castiel to track back down...and no way of knowing how to do any of it.

“C’mon,” Sam clapped a hand to Dean’s shoulder, “We gotta go.”

Numbly, Dean rose, wandering to retrieve his own shoes and jacket. “We probably shouldn’t take Baby, huh?”

Sam frowned. “It would only be a liability. Too noticeable.”

Dean pocketed the keys anyway. Not to drive her (Sam was right, Baby stood out like a sore thumb) but as a memento. One last memory of home. He tucked them into his jacket pocket as John stirred again, groaning loudly. 

“We gotta go,” Sam said, urgency painted on his face. The situation was still alarming, but at least his eyes were back to normal.

They ran out of the motel room. Beyond, there was a road and past that...a forest. It would be the perfect place to hide, especially if Dean could find Castiel’s realm. Castiel could protect them, could cure Sam of the fae blood infection. All Dean had to do was find a forest stream, right? He sprinted into the forest and Sam followed. 

The leafless trees were lit by the dim tendrils of dawn. A dusting of snow had accumulated from the night before, however, which wasn’t a good sign. Footprints would be trackable. Dean’s only hope was that they could get far enough away that by the time John started to track them. Maybe they’d even be tucked away in Castiel’s liminal spaces, footprints vanishing behind them. But first, they’d have to find a stream before found them. 

Sam quickly outpaced him. Not only was there snow and the various detritus of forest littering the ground, but Dean’s injury burned with every step. He gritted his teeth, ignoring the pain. Now, more than ever, was not the time to give into weakness. They continued to run, winding through trees that towered silently above them. The sun rose higher, its rays stinging Dean’s eyes.

His throat was on fire, his thigh throbbed and finally Dean stumbled to a stop, trying desperately to catch his breath. By now, they were long out of sight of the motel, but their footprints left a damning trail. Dean scanned the forest, searching desperately for any sign of a stream. It might be a stupid plan. Even if they found a stream and followed it through the forest, it might just lead them to the other side, or worse, back towards John. But it was the only thing they had going for them.

“We have to keep going,” Sam said. He didn’t sound like he’d been sprinting through a snowy forest; Sam wasn’t even close to gasping for air. 

Dean nodded, bracing himself for the pain of running as they took off again. He tried to let his feet guide him, the way he’d often managed to wander into Castiel’s realm when he knew the way, but this time, the strategy only sent him tumbling down a small hill. Dean hit his head on a rock, a sharp sting of pain blacking the world out around him.

Sam slapped him awake. “We don’t have time for this, we have to  _ go _ .”

“Was I out long?” Dean groaned, rubbing his head. He was right, he was becoming a liability. If they couldn’t find Castiel’s realm...he might have to split up with Sam. Buy his brother more time to escape, at least.

“Only a minute or two,” Sam grunted, scanning the forest, “But every minute counts right now.”

As though on cue, a gunshot rang through the forest.

Sam frowned grimly. “I should take care of this.”

“No!” Dean shouted quickly, scrambling to his feet. Now his head and thigh ached. He ignored the pain, clapping a hand to his brother’s shoulder. The physical touch had stopped Sam from shooting John earlier, maybe it helped keep his brother grounded. Dean could hope, at least. “We can still get outta here together.”

Sam  nodded and the two took off again. Another gunshot echoed through the forest and Dean got the strangest sense that they were becoming the hunted. When the escaped John, Dean would be better. More careful about what cars they drove, more subtle in their hunts. Hell, he’d even dye his hair and get tattoos if it would help. There was nothing Dean could do about their lack of foresight in the past, but once they got out of it, he’d change.

They had to get out of it, right?

In their blind panic, however, Dean realized all too late that they’d veered in their path. Ever so subtly, their straight line had curved, curving just enough lead them back in the direction of the motel. A fact Dean realized as they caught sight of John in the distance. He had a pistol, in their haste to escape neither of them had searched him, and it was raised. A burst of panic hit Dean and he turned tail to run.

“Thought you could get away without consequences?” John called from the distance, and Dean knew they were fucked. They were going to die now, or at least, Dean would and Sam would go dark side and spend the rest of his life ripping hearts out of innocent people–

–in the distance, Dean could hear the faint trickle of a stream.  _ Castiel _ . They might be able to make it to the fae after all.

Dean tugged Sam in the direction of the stream. “This way!”

Another gunshot rang, this one much closer than before. 

They raced towards the stream, trying to weave between the trees. Dean hit a root and went falling again, only being spared the misfortune of hitting the ground by Sam catching him. Sam kept him upright, pushing him forward. Regaining his balance, Dean continued the run, Sam behind him. Or to the side of him. It was hard to tell with the pain and panic coursing through Dean’s veins. As they rose above a crest, Dean’s heart soared. A stream. Small and half frozen over, but a stream nonetheless. 

They were almost there.

Dean crashed into the stream, thankful for his thick boots as he sprinted along the watery trail. Ice squeaked and cracked, water splattered, Dean’s footfalls beat a harsh staccato in the winter wilderness. Just a bit further. Just a bit further. 

“Castiel,” Dean gasped in something akin to a prayer. He said it over and over again, Castiel’s name etched within each ragged exhale. Dean couldn’t hear any more gunshots, couldn’t even hear Sam behind him, all other sounds were drowned out by his own body and desperate supplications to the fae. 

A figure appeared in the distance and fear burst through Dean’s chest. Had John managed to head them off? Dean stumbled but kept running, terrified if he was wrong, if the figure ahead of him wasn’t John, that hesitating would only allow his father to catch up from behind. Still, Dean gripped his gun in his numb hands, trying to prepare himself for whatever the threat might be when–

“Briar?”

Dean stopped short, water splashing onto his calves. The figure moved closer, stepping out of the sunlight and Dean found, to his utter relief, that it was Castiel. They had made it. Dean dropped to his knees, falling into the icy stream. The gun slipped from his hand, clattering on the rocks. “Castiel,” he gasped hoarsely.

“ _ Briar? _ ” Castiel’s voice hitched as he rushed to Dean’s side. “You’re hurt!”

“We’re safe now,” Dean whispered, though his head felt oddly dizzy and he had no idea if Sam could even hear him. As the adrenaline began to seep from his system, he grew more aware of the cold and the ache of his thigh. Castiel caught him as he wobbled in the stream, wrapping an arm around Dean’s waist to help lift him to standing. “We’re safe,” Dean murmured again, allowing his head to droop onto Castiel’s shoulder.


	17. Promise

_ “O sweet everlasting Voices, be still” --W.B. Yeats _

 

Dean awoke to birdsong and sunlight. He’d had an awful dream, though the details were fuzzy upon leaving sleep. Something frightening and painful and stressful. Of course, given Dean’s, well,  _ life _ , that could have been anything. He yawned, rubbing away the last dregs of sleep as he opened his eyes. Sunlight streamed through a lush green canopy of leaves and with a start, Dean realized he was not, in fact, in a motel bed.

In fact, he wasn’t on a bed at all; the only thing between Dean and the ground was a large pile of leaves and moss. The second realization came when Dean glanced down and discovered that, not only had he slept on the ground, but he did so  _ without pants _ . His thigh was carefully bandaged–though Dean wasn’t entirely sure why–and his jeans had somehow ended up as an impromptu pillow. Huh. 

“You’ve awakened,” Castiel’s familiar voice cut through Dean’s sleepy confusion, “How do you feel?”

Dean cracked a lazy grin at the appearance of the fae. This might very well be a dream, but it was absolutely the kind of dream he appreciated. Castiel was here and Dean’s problems far away. “Better now that the nightmares are over,” Dean stood up, wandering towards the fae. “They were worse than normal.”

“Really? How so?”

When he tried to remember them, Dean didn’t get specifics, only vague flashes of pain and fear. He grimaced. Reality would always be waiting for him, in its bad luck and worse timing, but in Castiel’s realm, Dean could  _ avoid _ the unpleasant. “Dunno,” Dean said, trying to stop the vague sense of dread that accompanied the bad dreams, “They just...feel worse.”

“Could be the physical pain,” Castiel gestured to Dean’s thigh, “You arrived with several wounds. Since you lost consciousness, I felt the best thing to do was provide at least minor relief through poultices and proper bandaging.”

Dean frowned. “I’m...actually here?”

Castiel tilted his head, blue eyes staring into Dean’s with an inscrutable expression. “You are. But by arriving in the shape you were in...it might take you some time to adjust to physically re-entering my realm. Including your memories.”

“Huh. Coulda been on a hunt,” Dean surmised. Wouldn’t have been the first time he’d gotten lost and hurt taking on something too big for him. At the thought of a hunt, however, Dean felt an odd pang of responsibility. Something he needed to do. “Do you think I beat it?”

“Knowing you?” Castiel offered a soft smile, “Absolutely.”

The vague worry still gnawed at Dean, but he pushed it away, allowing himself to enjoy the warm feeling that came from Castiel’s faith in him. He hadn’t felt this safe or cared for, in a long time. Whatever was plaguing him could wait, right? In an attempt to distract himself, Dean turned his attention onto the pile of granola bars. “So, what’s the deal with the granola? If I’m gonna be tricked into your realm, it’s gonna take a better meal than pre-packaged snacks, y’know.”

“It is not from my realm,” Castiel explained, “I have...pulled upon some old connections to ensure there is food from the outside world available for you to dine on. I take it the selection is unsatisfactory?”

“I mean, it’s  _ fine _ ,” Dean replied, wondering just how far he might be able to push it, “But it might be nice to have a warm meal? It feels like I haven’t eaten in ages.”

“The bars could be heated?”

Dean laughed. “Nah, I was thinking like...a burger. Fries.” His stomach growled and Dean wondered how long it had taken him to wander into Castiel’s realm, “Maybe even some onion rings.”

“Onion...rings?” Castiel’s brow furrowed, “Do you wish to  _ wear _ the vegetable?”

“That’s not…” Dean shook his head. He wasn’t entirely sure how to explain them to Castiel and besides, every moment he spent thinking about delicious diner food would make the granola bars all the more unappealing. “Don’t worry about it, dude.”

“I can ask Gabriel for help. For the burger and fries and…” Castiel hesitated, shooting Dean another wary look, “ _ onion rings _ .”

He left Dean, wandering through the thick green trees until Dean could no longer see the fae. Mere moments later (or was it an hour? Dean could never judge the passage of time properly in the fae realm) Castiel returned with a large take-out bag. The sides were stained with grease, always a good sign, in Dean’s opinion, and it smelled strongly of meat and fried food. 

Huh. Cas was being strangely accommodating. 

Still, Dean couldn’t spend too long being suspicious, not with his stomach growling at the promise of burgers and fries. He peered into the bag, Castiel really had gone all out with the order, and glanced up at the fae. “Promise you’re not trying to trap me?” 

Dean didn’t really believe Castiel was, but it still felt like it was something he ought to ask. Castiel shot him a scandalized look. “I would never trick you into spending an eternity with me.”

“Would you ask nicely, then?” Dean teased, reveling in the way Castiel’s cheeks turned pink at the words. There was a thrill in Dean’s chest at the thought of staying by Castiel’s side forever. Free of responsibilities, of pain… Once again, the urgency from before tried to surface, but Dean pushed it away. He’d much rather spend his limited time with Castiel in good spirits. After all, sooner or later he’d have to go back to hunting.

“I would never ask you.”

“Even if I asked?”

Castiel’s breath hitched. Almost by muscle memory, Dean drew closer to Castiel. For a moment, Dean’s hallucination of Andy became clear. The easy banter, the effortless closeness, the  _ heat _ . Dean hadn’t realized how much he wanted something like that until the danger was gone. There was nothing pressing, just...Cas.

“I brought food,” Castiel interrupted, hefting the bag over his face in a gesture that was all too human. While the endearing action did nothing to temper Dean’s budding crush on the fae, it did stop him from trying anything monumentally stupid. After all, Castiel’s  _ I don’t want to trap you in my realm _ could very well just be motivated by the fact he wanted to see less of Dean.

They both sat on the forest floor, Castiel pushing the bag towards Dean. It was jam packed with food: a half dozen burgers, fries, onion rings and even chicken nuggets. There was even a variety of sauce packets and a plastic water bottle shoved in the bottom. Dean had to give it to Gabriel–the fae knew how to put together a feast.

“Is it adequate?” Castiel asked worriedly.

Dean laughed. “It’s more than adequate!”

He unwrapped a burger, moaning with pleasure as he shoved it into his mouth. Dean paused mid-bite, however, catching sight of Castiel. The fae looked like a hopeful puppy, staring at Dean’s burger with wide eyes. Dean nearly choked on his burger. With some effort, Dean swallowed, grabbing another wrapped burger to toss to Cas. “Might as well enjoy ‘em while they’re hot, right?” Dean said with a grin.

Castiel unwrapped the burger with a grace Dean never would have attributed to the consumption of fast food. He delicately picked up the burger, eyeing it curiously before taking a slow, tentative bite.  _ “Oh!”  _ Castiel cried, taking another, more confident bite. “This is  _ incredible _ ,” he added, mouth completely full.

Dean laughed until he cried. Never had Castiel seemed so approachable as he did while carelessly consuming burgers. It became clear, as they ate, that Castiel preferred burgers over chicken nuggets. He didn’t mind the french fries and harbored a mistrust towards the onion rings, though that didn’t stop Cas from eating everything anyway. Most of all, Castiel’s carelessness spilled into the way he ate, the thoughtless way he’d brush against Dean’s hand as they both reached for yet another french fry.

If Dean ignored most of their history, the meal really seemed like a pleasant first date.

By the time they were done, the bag was filled with crumpled wrappers and empty packaging. Strangely, though, the sun appeared to be setting on their small portion of the forest. Had they really been eating for that long? Castiel had drifted closer to Dean (or maybe it had been the other way around) and almost instinctively, Dean leaned his head on Castiel’s shoulder. This dream was the longest he had, but it was a calm reprieve, like stepping into a clear pond on a summer’s day.

Castiel waved a hand and the bag vanished. He wrapped an arm around Dean’s shoulder. The two watched the sun set between the trees, neither daring to speak. Finally, when the last beams of light dipped below the horizon, Dean took a deep breath. “I like this,” he said, his voice sounding awkward as it pierced the quiet.

“I do too,” Castiel hummed. 

The urgency from earlier pricked Dean’s senses. He needed to do something, he needed to act. But on what? Where? Could the urgency be attached to the hunt? Or Andy’s hallucination? After all, Andy was supposed to show Dean what he was most afraid of; apparently that included being close to Castiel. But this closeness with Cas was the best Dean had felt in a very long time. Aside from the occasional twinge of worry, Dean couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so at peace. So happy. The urgency just made Dean bold. 

He shifted, legs moving almost without him thinking about it, and Dean found himself kneeling over Castiel. The fae’s cheeks were pink in the moonlight, blue eyes wide. “Do you like this?” Dean asked.

“I do,” Castiel whispered, staring up at Dean with an expression akin to awe.

Another burst of fear ran through Dean. A fragment of a memory: running. Stumbling in the snow. Stumbling into Castiel’s arms. The fae, it seemed, had come to  _ save _ him. And Dean wasn’t going to be afraid of the real world anymore. Not while he was here. In a final impulsive spurt, Dean leaned forwards, pressing a kiss to Castiel’s lips.

“Do you like this?” Dean whispered against Castiel’s mouth.

This time, the fae didn’t reply aloud, instead wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist and drawing him close, kissing him back. The kiss was better than anything Dean had imagined, gentle and electric. Castiel was holding back–exploring  _ that _ power was going to be an exciting venture later on–and Dean couldn’t help but feel pleased and honored all at once. The fae realm seemed to pause time entirely in that moment, as though Dean could kiss Castiel for an eternity. 

Why hadn’t Dean done this sooner? He’d known, deep down, how he’d felt about Castiel. What had stopped him? There was something about fae…

The faint thread of a memory appeared and Dean tugged on it absentmindedly. To his horror, memories of John surfaced. John hating the fae. John hating the idea of Dean sleeping with a man. John’s hatred haunting too many of Dean’s waking moments–

– _ John after Dean in the woods, gunfire ripping through the winter day. Dean ran, stumbling, trying desperately to find Castiel’s realm before it was too late. He needed to escape. No. Wait. Dean needed to escape with  _ **_Sam_ ** _ – _

Dean tugged away from Castiel with a cry. 

Castiel stared up at Dean with a dazed expression. Dean struggled to draw air into his lungs as the memories came back all at once. He wasn’t  _ dreaming _ , he was actually here, tucked away in Castiel’s realm. He’d come out of desperation, running from their angry father, and he’d come with Sam. He should have come with Sam.  _ Shit _ . 

“ _ Where’s my brother?” _ Dean gasped.

The fae blinked, sadness creeping into his eyes. Dean scrambled off the fae, horrified. Had he abandoned his brother in that forest? How could he have forgotten about Sam? Even for an instant, that would have been unforgivable, but Dean had no idea how long he’d gone without thinking of his brother. He’d been eating burgers and kissing fae and all the while Sam, well, Sam could be in danger. He could be  _ dead _ .

“Where’s my brother?” Dean asked again, slowly, his voice trembling.

Castiel looked away. “He’s not here, Dean.”

“ _ What? _ ”

“I couldn’t keep him in my realm!” Castiel insisted, “He’s corrupted, he could have corrupted my–”

“–you left my brother to die?” Dean shouted.

“Of course not!” Castiel insisted, “I’m not a monster!”

“Then...what?” Dean walked away. He couldn’t bear to look at Castiel right now. “Because leaving him to deal with my dad, that’s...that’s…”

“He won’t deal with your father,” Castiel said softly. “I cast an enchantment before I pulled you into my realm. Your father will not be able to find your brother, no matter how close the two are. Sa-” he stopped, correcting himself, “Your brother could be mere inches from your father and he would never know.”

Dean kicked a tree. “So why take me in?”

“I care for you, Briar.”

“If you  _ cared _ ,” Dean shouted, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice. He’d kissed Castiel. He’d  _ kissed _ Castiel, and all the while the fae was distracting him from helping his brother. Dean didn’t know what stung worse, the fact the kiss appeared to be a falsehood, or Castiel trying to keep him from Sam. “You wouldn’t have tricked me into leaving my brother behind!”

“I’m keeping you  _ safe! _ ” Castiel cried, “Why can’t you see that?”

Dean barked a laugh. “Thought it wasn’t safe in your realm. Wasn’t that why you kicked me out?”

“My realm is at risk,” Castiel admitted, “But it’s safer than having you at the hands of a father who wants to kill you and a brother who might find himself with a similar desire at any moment. At least here I can watch over you! I can protect you, even with my life.”

It was...disconcerting. Nobody had ever explicitly expressed the desire to help Dean, not like Castiel was doing. Of course, John had put Dean through hell ‘for the greater good,’ and Sam stayed behind, but his family always seemed to want something from him. Castiel, well, Cas just seemed to want Dean to be okay. The thought hurt. It wasn’t fair, the first time someone was kind, it was in the worst possible way.

“You should know,” Dean mumbled, sitting down against one of the trees, “My brother’s safety is more important to me than my own life.”

“Forgive me if I don’t see it that way.”

“I have to go after him.”

“Please don’t leave,” Castiel whispered, wandering to Dean’s tree. 

“I have to,” Dean pushed to standing, “He’s my brother, Cas.”

“How are you going to help him?” Castiel’s mouth tightened, “As Lucifer’s power grows, so will his sway over your brother. It’s only a matter of time–”

“–I’ll help!” Dean interrupted, “I think...I think my presence can ground him.”

“And if it doesn’t?” Castiel retorted, “He might kill you, Briar! Your brother might rip your heart out in cold blood.”

“Who cares?”

“ _ I do!” _ Castiel cried, his crown tumbling from his head. It rolled several paces away, finally settling under a gnarled tree. Castiel bowed his head, hair sticking out every which way. Without a crown, the fae looked like a lost child, powerless. “Surely you must see how much you send my very soul into disarray, Briar. To lose you…” Castiel squeezed his eyes shut, “Not even the passing of millennia could fill that void.”

Dean froze. How could a declaration of love hurt so badly? It was as though Dean was stretched taut between duty and desire, caught between his brother and his fae.  _ His fae _ . Dean shivered at the thought, heart leaping traitorously at the thought of Castiel’s lips on his.  _ No _ . No, now was the time to stay strong. To do the thing he was born to do: protect Sam. “If you care about me,” Dean said finally, “You would save my brother.”

“It’s not that easy, Briar.”

“Why not? You have magic. You have to be able to do something!”

“Briar…”

“If you don’t,” Dean added desperately, hating himself for even thinking it, much less voicing the threat aloud, “I’ll leave and never come back. Ever.”

Silence fell. Castiel left Dean’s side, retrieving his crown. He brushed dirt from the stones with the hem of his robe, not looking at Dean. Castiel polished each and every stone, settling on the jade Dean had given him. Finally, Castiel looked up. “It would take time,” he said finally, “There is no instant cure.”

“Fine.”

“And there’s a price.”

There was always a price. Even if the fae was in love with Dean, apparently.

“Anything.”

Castiel settled the crown onto his head at last, wandering back to Dean. He once again looked ethereal, powerful. This was a fae who knew what he wanted. “You remain in my realm until I am certain you will be safe,” Castiel replied.

How could the kindest promise also be the cruelest? On the one hand, the thought of remaining by Castiel’s side made Dean’s heart soar in a way he never thought possible. But to be away from his brother...to have no way to protect him...it was different before, when Dean left Sam with John. That was before John’s fury and Sam’s dark powers became clear. Now? Well, now Sam could be hunted. He could be corrupted. He needed Dean, didn’t he?

And yet, Dean knew, deep down, the only way he could truly help Sam was to trade away his freedom. A tiny part of Dean even rejoiced at the prospect. He’d gone so long missing Castiel that, well, spending every day with him seemed like it wouldn’t even be payment at all. But still, Dean had no clue how long it would be before he’d be able to leave Castiel’s realm. It would almost certainly mark the longest Dean had been separated from his brother.

“Briar?” Castiel asked, “Do you agree to those terms?”

Dean nodded weakly. He had no other choice. “How do we make this trade?”

“Focus on your promise,” Castiel said, “Speak it aloud.”

Thoughts of Castiel’s realm filled Dean’s head, the memory of trees and streams and many ageless things swirling in Dean’s soul. “I promise,” Dean spoke the words, nearly stopping as he felt something tug deep within himself. “I will stay in your realm as long as you want.” 

The words slipped from his throat, drifting out of Dean’s mouth in a strange, glowing trickle. Dean watched in awe as the promise floated towards Castiel, who bowed his head. There was a flash of light as the promise touched the jade on Castiel’s crown, then it dimmed. The jade still glowed, ever so slightly, and Castiel raised his eyes.

“It is done,” Castiel whispered, “I am bound by your promise.”

“You’ll save Sam?”

Castiel took Dean’s hand in his own. “I promise,” he whispered, pressing his lips to Dean’s skin. The warmth of Castiel’s promise sunk into Dean’s hand, into his very soul, and Dean knew without a shadow of a doubt that Castiel would save his brother.

Or die trying. _ _


	18. Interim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Great news! I've officially finished writing this fic! That means guaranteed updates for y'all from now until I finish!

_“I had a thought for no one’s but your ears: / That you were beautiful” --W.B. Yeats_

 

Dean and Castiel settled into an awkward rhythm. His wounds had healed, strangely, they seemed to simply disappear overnight. Time would pass in unexpected spurts, the odd sensation only increasing with the ever shifting forest. Dean would watch the sun rise, then watch it rise again. And again. He once washed his clothes in a clear stream; the process seemed to take literal days. Every so often, Dean would feel hunger. Castiel would leave and return with food. The world seemed so still and so fluid at the same time.

And then there was Castiel himself.

The initial temptation was to hate Castiel. After all, the fae was actively keeping Dean from the real world. From Sam. The fact Dean had no clue what was happening to his brother was maddening. And yet...Dean enjoyed Castiel’s presence; the fae somehow grounded Dean while simultaneously making it feel as though the earth was shaking. Dean couldn’t help but find himself drawn closer to Castiel as of late, his fingertips twitching restlessly in an attempt to stem the desire to reach out and grab Castiel’s hand in his.

Most of the time, Castiel was hard at work. He researched in dusty scrolls, drew strange sigils in the rich forest soil, crushed herbs and mosses into strange poultices. All the while, he wore a grim expression, brow knitted and eyes hard. Dean found even he couldn’t be too angry at Castiel, who was clearly running himself ragged on Dean’s behalf. Breaking point came in a sparsely wooded area, when Castiel used a strangely shiny blade to slice open his forearm. Castiel began to chant, a low murmur, and his blood shone stark against the white, untouched snow.

Dean had seen blood rituals, had even participated in a few, but as the blood kept pouring, Dean couldn’t help but fear the worst. “What are you doing?” Dean croaked. He was shocked, how long had it been since he’d last spoken? Coughing, Dean tried again, “Are you sure this is a good idea?”

Castiel shot him a worried look but continued chanting. By now, the droplets had began to run together, leaving a large red stain growing on the forest floor. Castiel’s chanting grew louder and for a brief moment, the blood glowed–the fae cried out, his other hand clutching his head. The chanting faltered, Castiel doubled over in pain. The fae exhaled once, sharply, then pushed back to standing, squeezing his injured arm as he resumed chanting. This time, Castiel’s voice wobbled.

Whatever he was trying wasn’t working.

Would Castiel have continued the dangerous spell if he was not bound by his promise to Dean? Would he die trying something in desperation? A stone dropped into the pit of Dean’s stomach as he realized an unexpected truth: he wasn’t sure he could handle losing Castiel. There had to be another way.

“Stop!” Dean shouted, rushing to Castiel’s side. He wrenched Castiel’s grip from his injured arm, holding Cas’ now bloody hand in his own. “You have to stop.”

“I have to find a cure,” Castiel growled, “That was going to work!”

“That was going to hurt you,” Dean retorted, “It already did.”

“Lucifer worked in dark magic. Old magic,” Castiel tried to wrench his arm free of Dean’s grasp, but Dean didn’t let go. “There are few magics older than blood magic, this pain might just–”

“–Why are you trying so hard anyway?” Dean couldn’t hear more about pain. Not now. John always insisted pain was useful, insisted Dean’s pain was worth it, but seeing Castiel do similar...it made Dean reevaluate. “You didn’t care about my brother before!”

“I care about _you_ , Briar,” Castiel’s voice was brittle, like twigs snapping underfoot. He looked at Dean and softened, adding, “I want you to be happy. Like…” he paused, “...before. When you first arrived.”

Oh.

Castiel was so open, so utterly unabashed in his declaration of affection for Dean...as well as his willingness to bleed on his behalf. It never occurred to Dean just how much power he wielded over the fae. “Let’s bandage this up,” Dean said softly, stroking Castiel’s hand with his thumb.

The fae hesitated, then sighed. He waved a hand and a roll of homemade bandages, similar to what he’d used for Dean’s injuries, appeared. Dean caught the bandages, guiding Castiel to a stump nearby where the fae could sit. “I used to do this for my brother,” Dean said as he carefully began to wind the cloth around Castiel’s arm. “Dad could do it too, but Sam always preferred me.”

“I can understand why,” Castiel’s gaze flitted to Dean’s for a moment before he looked down.

“You okay?”

Castiel sighed. “Hardly. Lucifer is stirring, The Order is in shambles, my old companions demand I step up and lead. Now is not the time for my emotions to sway and yet…with you…” he gave Dean’s hand a squeeze, “My loyalties are shifting.”

“Oh,” Dean mumbled, unsure of what to do with this much honest affection. He’d spent most of his adult life seeking out one night stands. Even kissing Castiel, that was...well, that was similar, right? He thought he’d wake up from the dream, that he wouldn’t have to face real repercussions but now, in close quarters with Castiel, he didn’t know what to do with the feelings.

Mostly, though, he just wanted to kiss Cas again.

“If you have other fae contacts,” Dean said instead, hoping to distract them both from the odd, fluttering sensation in his chest that arose whenever he imagined kissing Castiel, “Couldn’t they be helpful? Maybe someone knows something.”

“I do not want any of them in my realm,” Castiel replied softly, “With you unbound, it could pose a threat.”

“What about Charlie’s fae?” Dean interrupted, “She was the only human who seemed like a human, I bet her fae would be decent.”

Castiel hummed as Dean finished tying the bandage. “Gilda might not actually be a bad idea. And her human would provide you with companionship…”

“I don’t mind your companionship, you know.”

The fae flushed, pushing to standing. “I–I’m going to track down Gilda.”

Castiel vanished. Dean blinked and found himself in a new forest, green and dripping with rain. Next thing he knew, he was being tackled, catching a flash of red hair has he toppled over. “Long time, no see!” Charlie cried, hugging Dean again on the ground before she pushed to standing.

Dean laughed, following her lead. “Didn’t think he’d get back so quick.”

“You know how fae are,” Charlie responded. “It either takes the blink of an eye or an entire _century_.”

“Yeah, I get the feeling. I don’t even know how long I’ve been here this time,” Dean admitted.

“Why are you here, anyway?” Charlie asked, “You finally get yourself bound?”

“No.”

Charlie glanced over to the fae. Castiel stood besides a beautiful fae with rich amber curls that spilled down shoulders. It was no wonder Charlie was enraptured with her, she was the kind of fae who would have fit in well with the legends of fae luring men away from their homes. Gilda caught her eye and Charlie waved cheerfully before turning back to Dean.

“You’re seriously not bound?” Charlie asked, “But Castiel’s so…”

“Hot?”

“I was going to say _into you_ ,” Charlie replied with a smirk, “But I can see why you’d be attracted to him.”

Dean risked another look in Castiel’s direction. The fae was deep in conversation with Gilda. He hoped they could find a way to save Sam. One that, preferably, didn’t involve Castiel getting hurt.

“What do you know about Lucifer?” Dean asked abruptly in an attempt to pull Charlie away from the topic of _Castiel’s affections_. It was a legitimate question, Castiel had been so entrenched in finding a cure that Dean didn’t dare ask, but it hadn’t stopped his curiosity. After all, Lucifer was the reason Sam was going darkside.

“Well, I wasn’t here during the initial Lucifer years,” Charlie said, “But I know the gist.” She sat down on a log nearby, folding her arms. “The Resistance nearly died trying to unmask his misdeeds to The Order. Gilda says she was hurt, but Castiel took the brunt of the punishment.”

Dean winced. That did sound lawfully like the self-sacrificing fae he knew. “So Lucifer is still in The Order?”

“Oh, god no!” Charlie cried, “Eventually he got too bold. They caught him corrupting a baby he’d been tasked to heal...and that was the beginning of the end. The Order apologized to the Resistance, but in some ways, the damage had been done.”

“Castiel,” Dean whispered, feeling an ache in his heart at the thought of anyone hurting the fae.

“Sorry.”

Dean huffed a laugh. “Not your fault, is it?”

Charlie mustered a grin, picking at moss on the log. “I guess not.”

“So what’s the deal with Lucifer now, then?” Dean asked, “If they took him down, why are there people out there with glowing yellow eyes?”

“The Resistance had always suspected Lucifer was out building an army,” Charlie said, “But nobody could prove it. Which means…” she sighed, “well, they didn’t catch the corrupted ones. I don’t even know if they realized how many babies had been corrupted, or if that corruption could still cause problems. They only caught our radar recently, when powers began to manifest. It’s too late to save them now–”

“–it’s not too late!” Dean burst out. “It can’t be!”

Charlie shot him a strange look. “Well, maybe not. If anyone could save them, it would be Castiel. But he’s not part of the Resistance anymore...and from what I’ve heard, the plan now isn’t so much about saving the yellow-eyed children and more about stopping Lucifer. Hannah thinks if we watch the yellow-eyed children, they’ll eventually lead us to Lucifer.”

“I thought you said The Order got him!”

“The Order weakened him,” Charlie responded, “Cut power to his realm, stopped his current batch of yellow-eyed soldiers. They thought he’d withered away. But his power must have rested, dormant, in the babies he corrupted…”

“Wait.” Dean interrupted, a horrible thought forming in his mind. Sam, of course, was one of the corrupted babies. And Mary, she had disappeared with a _fae_. “How did he corrupt them? The babies?”

“We think he struck deals,” Charlie said softly, picking at the moss, “Cured sick babies and corrupted them in the process.”

“And what happened to the parents?”

Charlie shot him a strange look. “Nothing.”

“Really? He just...left them be?

Well,” Charlie hesitated, “Judging by the yellow-eyed children we know about now...one of their only connections was the fact they used to be younger siblings.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Briar,” Charlie ripped a small portion of moss from the log, rolling it between her fingers, “The yellow-eyed soldiers each lost an older sibling when they were babies.”

“But that doesn’t...that doesn’t make sense,” Dean shook his head. _He_ was the older sibling. And he was still here. His mom was gone, his mom was lost. “I don’t understand.”

“Lucifer was manipulative,” Charlie said, tugging more moss from the log, “He played on the desperation of parents. We think he got them agree to deals, not knowing what they were sacrificing. Parents...I think parents thought they were giving themselves up, but..” she took a shuddering breath, “they were giving up their first-borns.”

“Why? Why take them?”

“Power?” Charlie shrugged, “It’s plenty easy to rip out the heart of a child.”

“No,” Dean stood up, staring down at Charlie. “You don’t understand. That...that couldn’t have happened.”

John’s words in the motel crept back, swirling traitorously. _You never had an interest in that forest ‘til the night your mother disappeared._

“The first-borns,” Dean whispered raggedly, “They’d wander off, wouldn’t they?”

Charlie nodded, not meeting Dean’s eye.

“And then they’d…” Dean could barely breathe, “disappear.”

“That’s what the Resistance thinks.”

Dean bit his lip, grateful for the tang of blood. John was right. Dean was the reason Mary had disappeared. If Charlie was right, if Lucifer was taking first-borns...then it meant Mary had tried to save him. How would things had been different if she’d just let it happen? Would John have been racked with such torment? Would Sam have gotten a better life?

His family falling apart wasn’t really his fault...was it?

“Why won’t you see sense, Castiel?” Gilda’s voice rose in the forest, punctuating their discussion. “Why are you always pursuing fools errands?”

“The Resistance was a fool’s errand!” Castiel retorted, “So I suppose I haven’t learned my lesson.”

“You won’t consider the only thing that _might_ work?”

“The costs are too high. I will find another way.”

Gilda stamped a foot. “I can’t do this right now, Castiel. I’m not going to watch my friend…” she shook her head, making her way to Dean and Charlie. Charlie jumped up. “It’s time to go,” she said to Charlie, who shot Dean a worried look.

“Are you going to be okay?” Charlie whispered.

“Go,” Dean didn’t meet her eye, “I’ll be fine.”

He stared at the log where Charlie had been sitting. Hours passed, hours of simply staring at the old log, at least, that’s how it felt. Castiel’s warm hand on his shoulder, however, snapped Dean out of his self-pity.

“Are you okay?” Castiel’s voice rumbled, soft and comforting.

Dean swiveled to face the fae. Castiel’s hair stood up in disarray, poking out through the woven branches of his crown. He couldn’t help but smile at the sight. “Are you?”

Castiel seemed to crumple inwards. Dean wrapped his arms around the fae, pressing his face into the hollow of Castiel’s neck. He didn’t know if he hugged to comfort Castiel or himself, but it didn’t matter. Castiel’s warmth was calming. “I take it Gilda didn’t have any answers?” Dean asked.

The fae huffed, his breath against Dean’s bare neck. Shivers ran down Dean’s spine. “Nothing I could use.”

Dean squeezed the fae tighter, humming as he could feel Castiel’s heartbeat against his chest. “Do you think The Resistance will be able to stop Lucifer?”

“I hope so,” Castiel sighed, “But I have a new mission now.”

“Cas…”

“It’s my fault your brother’s corrupted in the first place. If I’d worked harder, if I’d done more to stop Lucifer, he wouldn’t have...you would have everything you wanted…”

A tear dripped onto Dean’s shoulder and Dean pulled away to look Castiel in the eyes. “This is on Lucifer,” he said firmly, “Not you.”

“You know,” Cas whispered, “I always thought of the torture as a sort of penance. But now...with you...I…” he pressed his head to Dean’s chest, “I don’t think I’ve come close to penance.”

Dean kissed Castiel’s forehead. “You haven’t stolen my name,” he whispered, “You’ve gone out of your way to protect me...you’re even going out of your way to try to save my brother.” He nudged Castiel’s chin up to look at him. The magic in Castiel’s eyes tugged at Dean’s very soul, he could get lost in those eyes for an eternity. “I don’t think you deserve to be in pain anymore,” Dean whispered, pressing a kiss to Castiel’s lips.

To his disappointment, Castiel pulled away.

“We should not be engaging in this,” Castiel didn’t look Dean in the eyes.

“Why?”

“If I allow myself to...to fall completely,” Castiel shook his head, “You would be at risk.”

“Of what?”

“What if, deep down, I pull for your name?” Castiel retorted, “Or I grow distracted from the task at hand?”

“So what’s your game plan?” Dean reached for Castiel again, but the fae stepped out of reach. “Be miserable until you figure out a way to save my brother?”

“What’s _your_ plan?” Castiel wiped his eyes, “I find a way to save Sam and then what?”

Unbidden, the thought of whispering his true name into Castiel’s ear arose in Dean’s head. Not now, of course, not soon, but in some distant future. In the fantasy, Castiel lay beside Dean on a bed of leaves, chest bare. He drew constellations on Dean’s stomach while pressing absent minded kisses to Dean’s shoulder and Dean, well, Dean just knew it was time.

But Sam wasn’t safe yet, Lucifer was still out there. Dean didn’t know what to do.

“I have to put Sam first,” Dean admitted.

Castiel smiled sadly. “Then I must keep looking for a better solution.”

And then he was gone, melting into the trees.

In order to distance himself, Castiel made it a point to work away from Dean. Not far enough away that, if an emergency were to strike, he couldn’t save Dean, but certainly there was enough to keep Dean from talking to him. From touching him. Of course, without Castiel to distract Dean from the stress of the real world, he grew consumed with thoughts of his brother.

Sam could be corrupted. He could be in danger. He could be dead. And Dean had no way of knowing.

There was no way of telling how much time passed before the worries threatened to drive Dean insane. He didn’t want to ask Castiel to speed up his work, the fae had proven to be recklessly self-sacrificing in that regards, but Dean didn’t know how much longer he could bear it, waiting in Castiel’s realm with nothing to do and no way to help.

“Is there a way I can see my brother?” Dean asked finally, his voice raspy from silence. Castiel looked up from an intricate map as Dean continued. “I’m willing to trade.”

“Briar, you cannot leave...not right now.”

“I don’t need to see him in person,” Dean begged, “I just need to _see_ him. It’s been, well, it feels like it’s been so long and I’ve never gone this long without checking up on him.”

Castiel chewed his lip. “I suppose there’s something we could do. But–”

“–I’m going to pay any price, Castiel.”

The fae nodded sadly. “I know.”

In the end, Castiel presented Dean with a palm sized sphere of polished obsidian. “Imbued with your desire to see your brother,” Castiel explained, “This stone will become a conduit with which you can observe him.”

“And what do you want from me?”

“A memory.”

Dean knew just the one.

He hated that Castiel pushed him away. The fae was Dean’s only other connection in the world, surely Castiel should know how much Dean needed him. And if it didn’t work, well. It would be worth giving up the memory for Dean’s own well-being. As Castiel gripped his shoulder, Dean imagined Andy’s hallucination, bringing up the easy-going banter they had together, the sweet kisses, Dean’s desire to share his true name. He stopped just short of the big reveal and sent the memory towards the fae.

And then it was gone.

Castiel’s eyes widened, mouth dropping open as he stared at the form Dean’s memory had taken: a polished blue stone, so dark it was almost black, embedded with shimmering, starlike pinpricks. Dean swallowed a laugh. Whatever he’d given Castiel had shaken the fae to his core.

The fae squeaked, mouth opening and closing as he reverently tucked the stone into his pocket. He caught Dean’s eye, looking away quickly, and then Castiel was gone. Vanished from the forest completely. Huh. Dean was curious, now, what memory he could have possibly parted with to make Castiel react that way?

A flicker of motion caught Dean’s attention, however, and he caught his breath. There, in the obsidian stone, was Sam, eyes glowing yellow.


	19. Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gonna be busy tomorrow so good news! Y'all get this chapter slightly early!

_ “Away with us he’s going, / The solemn eyed” --W.B. Yeats _

 

Dean was obsessed with watching his brother. Not only did his brother feel like the most important person in the world, but the other most important person to Dean was acting...strange. Whenever they were together, Castiel constantly seemed on the verge of saying something, but would stop short. He stared at Dean, blue eyes boring holes into Dean’s very soul. And then there was the personal space. Castiel seemed to constantly be drawn into Dean’s orbit, close enough they could touch, and would then proceed to wrench himself away with great difficulty.

To say it was confusing would be the understatement of the year.

All Dean wanted was to tug Castiel in and kiss him. He wanted to tell the fae it would be okay, he wanted Castiel to say the same. Dean  _ wanted _ ...and maybe that was the problem. Well, that and whatever memory he’d given Cas. It had rattled the fae to his core, and Dean had no idea what it could be. Some horrific hunt, perhaps? It was clearly an indicator that Castiel shouldn’t be with Dean, which stung. 

To avoid thinking about the enigma that was his fae, Dean had instead taken to watching Sam. He’d been alarmed to find his brother’s eyes glowing, but thankfully, that didn’t seem to happen all that often. In other news, Sam, it seemed, had resumed hunting. Dean watched him take on an entire nest of vampires, a ghoul, and a strange, fat-sucking creature Dean the likes of which Dean had never seen before.

Sam worked quickly and efficiently with each case, swapping out cars after every town and spending most time on the road. Smart move. Even with Castiel’s enchantment, Dean still felt it best for Sam to stay on the move, stay off John’s radar. Dean didn’t want Sam to have to test how strong Castiel’s spell could be. 

Dean did wonder what Sam was thinking. Did Sam miss Dean, was he searching for him? Or had he thought John had taken Dean? Was it possible Sam had given up on Dean completely? It certainly didn’t help that Dean had no idea how much time had passed on Earth, it could be days, but it might very well be weeks or even months. Sam might have already exhausted all his options for finding Dean and given up. 

At least, Dean hoped Sam had exhausted all his options before giving up.

Regardless, Sam continued hunting and for the most part, his powers only manifested during hunts. This was a relief...except for the fact his powers seemed to be growing by the day. Dean watched him fling a vampire all the way across an abandoned warehouse, send a fridge rocketing up a flight of stairs and even strangle another monster in a move that was too close to Darth Vader for comfort. Worst of all, Sam seemed to enjoy it.

With every passing day, Dean was itching to help. Surely, a stupid part of his brain reasoned, if Dean was with Sam, he wouldn’t go dark side quite so quickly. Still, even as Dean stared into the forests, he could feel his promise to Castiel humming in his bones. It was a strange sensation that reminded him he couldn’t leave the realm. Not that it mattered anyway, how was Dean supposed to sneak out of an area that changed so regularly? It would do him no good to escape Castiel’s realm and stumble out into a forest in New Zealand.

The rising stress only served to make Dean miserable. 

It was almost like the helplessness he felt living with John, the inability to truly make a difference weighed on Dean constantly. Dean hadn’t realized how much Castiel’s presence had relieved anxieties in the past. The fae was so distant now, it was as though Dean had lost everyone he cared about. 

The turning point came one evening (at least, it appeared to be evening in the forest where Castiel currently resided) when Dean watched Sam hurt a civilian. His brother had been drinking, maybe too much, and when a guy at the bar got up in Sam’s business and Sam, well, he snapped. Sam smashed the man’s head into the bar before tossing him, limp, across the room. His eyes held the all too familiar glow and Dean felt his stomach turn as he watched Sam smile darkly. This, more than anything, was a clear sign that time was running out for Sam. Worse, Dean was nowhere near him and Castiel seemed no closer to finding a cure.

Still, Castiel’s distance gave Dean an idea. If the fae wasn’t paying attention, maybe, just maybe, Dean would be able to escape after all. Maybe the spell was weaker, for instance, when he was further away from Cas. After all, Dean hadn’t truly tried to escape before. So Dean waited, purposely increasing his distance from Castiel, until they appeared in a familiar forest within the United States: the Redwoods.

Escaping here would be child’s play. It was easy to get lost, the towering trunks were so wide they dwarfed Dean completely. The sun was starting to rise (perfect timing, really; it would give Dean a good head start) and Castiel was hard at work, a combination of stones and odd carvings scattered at his feet. Dean chanced one final look at the fae. Castiel’s crown was askew, his robes dirty, his hair wild. The fae frowned at a carving, intently drawing a blade to make thoughtful incisions in the wood. He looked...beautiful. 

Dean was hit with a pang of longing. Staying with Castiel wasn’t the worst lot he could have drawn in life. The fae might be distant now, but he was still kind. And those kisses they shared, well, those would stay with Dean for the rest of his life. He wasn’t sure anyone else could come close. It was a shame Dean wouldn’t be able to kiss Castiel goodbye, or say goodbye at all, but if he was going to break this promise, he’d have to do it without the fae knowing.

After drinking in his fill of the fae, Dean wrenched his eyes away. He had to go. Picking up into a run, Dean wove between trees. He ignored the humming in his bones, pushing himself to go further, to make it away, away, away. Dean ran for hours, for days, constantly weaving between nearly identical Redwoods. Was he going in circles? Was Castiel’s realm stretching? Why couldn’t he make it back into the real world?

The sensation in Dean’s body shifted from odd to painful, his very being aching. He couldn’t stop now, though. Sam needed him. Castiel’s cure was taking too long, but at least Dean would be able to help him hold on. Hell, he could bring him back to Castiel. Surely, if Castiel saw how much the fae blood was taking affect, he would allow Sam into his protection. But the first step of saving Sam was getting to him, a task that was growing in its Herculean nature by the footfall. 

Dean took another turn, rounding another trunk. The pain in Dean’s bones vanished as he ran smack into Castiel.  _ Shit _ . 

“You know I can feel you trying to leave, right?” Castiel chided, though it was a tired sort of reproach. “I can’t work on a cure while I’m trying to ignore the tug of your soul.”

“You’re keeping tabs on my soul?” Dean snapped, annoyed his escape plan had failed, “Gross, dude.”

“It’s the promise,” Castiel explained, “The one  _ you _ asked for.”

“I asked for you to save my brother,” Dean retorted, “Not play around in the dirt with your useless spells.”

“You...you think I  _ play? _ ” Castiel sputtered, “I have been working  _ tirelessly _ to find a cure for something that, before this point, was commonly considered  _ incurable! _ I am running myself ragged for you, Briar.”

“Really?” Dean let his fear carry the words, finally releasing some of the tension bound in his heart ever since he caught sight of his brother. Ever since Castiel stopped speaking to him. “Sure seems like you’re abandoning me.”

Castiel opened and closed his mouth several times before crossing his arms. “I was not aware you required constant supervision,” he retorted icily.

“I don’t! But that doesn’t mean I don’t want my friend.”

Castiel winced, turning his head. Dean had no idea what to make of that reaction–yes, Castiel hadn’t wanted to kiss him but surely he wanted to at least maintain a friendship–but wasn’t sure he liked it. “C’mon,” Dean continued, “My brother’s in danger, my best friend barely speaks to me...I’m going crazy here.”

“Your best friend?”

“You, dumbass.”

The fae stared at Dean, wavering between walking closer, but resisted the urge. “It’s not that simple, Briar.”

“Really?” Dean could feel his eyes starting to burn. He wasn’t a cryer, he wasn’t, but the stress was threatening to break him. He scrubbed a hard hand across his face, hoping to stem the flow of any traitorous teardrops. “Because it sure feels like I wrecked my shot at friendship when I kissed you.”

Dismay flashed across Castiel’s face and to Dean’s surprise, he too rubbed a hand across his eyes. “I don’t...not want…”

“Then do it!” Dean shouted, “Kiss me right now!”

In an instant, Castiel was centimeters from Dean, their chests nearly touching. “Do you want that?” he growled, blue eyes piercing into Dean’s very soul, “Are you certain?”

Dean wanted to kiss Cas, wanted to pull him close and never let him go. And yet...he hesitated. “Why would I not?”

Castiel said nothing, instead slowly stepping away, leaving Dean with the feeling there was a test he had unknowingly failed. He didn’t like the feeling of failure. John had spent over a decade reminding Dean of what happened when he failed.

And now, not only was he failing Castiel, he was failing Sam.

“I need to get to my brother,” Dean pushed his feelings for Castiel aside. There was too much to think about, too much to consider, too much to... _ feel _ . Duty over emotion. That was the way it had always been, and for good reason: emotions weren’t easy to handle. Castiel had complicated so much, Dean couldn’t have him complicate his relationship with Sam too. “He needs me.”

“He needs  _ me _ ,” Castiel retorted, “My magic–”

“–isn’t working!” Dean interrupted, stomping his foot like a petulant toddler, “I need to help buy him more time.”

“How will you help him?”   


“I don’t know, I can try–”

“–I never should have given you that orb!” Castiel cried, “It’s filled your head with foolish ideas of saving your brother. The further down that path he goes, the less likely it is that you’ll save him. He’s far more likely to kill you.”

“Better dead and tried than alive having done nothing!”

“ _ I refuse to believe that! _ ” Castiel was not one to shout, the fervor in his voice quieted Dean on the spot. Castiel scrubbed his hand over his face again in one violent motion. “You are, without a doubt, the  _ most _ important part of my life, Briar. I am trying everything to find a cure for Sam. I have drawn power from my realm, scoured fae lore, tried so many spells I’m surprised I haven’t fallen into eternal rest…”

He wobbled on the spot and Dean realized, with a start, that Castiel was about to fall. He caught the fae by the elbow and Castiel rested his head on Dean’s shoulder. “Please, Briar. We can discuss so much later, but I am so close to finding a way to save your brother. Please stay here. Stay safe. Just for a short while longer.”

How could Dean deny him that? After all, as much as he hated to admit it, Castiel probably did have a point. Dean likely wouldn’t be able to save his brother, no matter how much he fantasized about it. Maybe Castiel would be done quickly, he’d save Sam and then things could start getting back to normal.

Well, back to normal aside from the fact Dean  _ definitely _ wanted to discuss what Castiel meant by not  _ not _ wanting to kiss him.

Later, Castiel summoned Dean Chinese take-out, leaving the small white boxes on a stump near where he was hard at work. Dean ate quietly, trying not to think about how different things had been when he had first arrived. That day of greasy burgers and sweet, heavenly kisses. Why did Castiel have to be a fae? He could have been a naive doctor Dean rescued, or a hot professor who happened to frequent the bar Dean was visiting in some remote town, or an author whose coffee order was mixed up with Dean’s. He could have been  _ human _ and Dean could have fallen for him like normal.

Then again, Dean was a hunter. No love story of his would have been normal.

Rather than dwell on what could have been, Dean tugged the orb from his jacket pocket. He knew he probably shouldn’t look at it, watching Sam going down a dark path wasn’t exactly working wonders for Dean’s patience. Still, what else was there to do? Dean couldn’t help with Castiel’s magic. He couldn’t even go off to a bar and get drunk. There was no way to blot out the fear he felt on Sam’s behalf.

So he watched the orb, hoping on a thin blade of hope that by watching Sam, Dean could somehow connect to his brother. Soon, the forest dimmed. Birdsong quieted, leaves stilled, the very air seemed to hum. Dean watched as his brother slowly began to grow into a stranger. Gone was the sweet, shaggy-haired boy Dean knew, in his place was someone Dean wished he could forget.

Sam still hunted, though Dean suspected he craved the thrill of violence more than the responsibility of saving innocent civilians. He spent his nights drinking copious amounts of alcohol, avoiding everyone but the occasional one night stand. 

“Curious,” Castiel’s voice pierced Dean’s reverie and Dean nearly dropped the obsidian sphere. “He hasn’t joined with the other yellow-eyed children.” With a curious glance from Dean, Castiel continued, “The others have been mustering. Your brother’s resistance to that call…” the fae smiled wanly, “It could be a good sign.”

Dean rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t realized, until Castiel spoke, just how tired he was. Watching Sam had become an all encompassing activity and Dean had no clue how much time had passed. “You have any news on a cure?” Dean asked.

Castiel’s smile faded. “Not yet.”

“Nothing? How do you have nothing? It’s been...” Dean paused. He had no idea how long it had been since he’d left Sam, but it felt like an eternity, “It’s been so long!” 

“It’s not  _ nothing _ ,” Castiel sighed, “There is one thing...but it must be saved for emergencies. The cost on your behalf would be too high.”

“You’ve had a solution this whole time?” Dean yelped, feeling the tiredness draining in the face of anger. All this time, all this worry, all for nothing.

“I have had one very terrible idea this whole time,” Castiel replied, “One that would force you into a situation you do not want. And you’re angry I have chosen to try to spare you?”

“ _ Yes! _ ”

Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose. “We still have time to save your brother. You ought to be happy I’ve put your needs above your short-term demands. A different fae–”

“A different fae might have already saved him!”

“A different fae,” Castiel snarled, “Would have already stolen your name and bound you for  _ eternity _ , sucking away your essence before your very eyes. You wouldn’t give a damn about your brother then.”

Furious, Dean snatched up the ball, leaving Castiel’s side. The fae was right. Castiel was  _ always _ right, it seemed, but Dean didn’t have to like it. If he wanted to sacrifice himself to save Sam, nobody was supposed to stop him! Castiel was being selfish, keeping Dean alive for no reason.

He wandered in the forest with these furious musings clouding his thoughts, passing not one, but three sunrises. Had three days really passed? Had mere hours? Sometimes, the strange illogical passage of time within Castiel’s realm was exhausting. 

Although Dean felt far from Castiel, he realized with a strange start that he didn’t ache. Evidently the spell seemed to react to intention. At what point, Dean wondered, had he given up trying to escape? And what did that say about how he felt about Sam?

Dean glanced at the orb. He knew he shouldn’t, by now it would only make things worse. After all, it was proof that Sam was declining, that Sam might be too far gone to be saved at any moment. But what he saw was worse than anything he’d imagined. Dean’s heart leapt into his chest, horror filling his very being. The magic stone slipped from Dean’s fingertips, hitting the dead leaves below with a dull  _ thud _ . Dean dropped, trying to pick it back up with shaking hands. He had to get back to Castiel. He had to convince him to go through with whatever spell worked, consequences be damned.

Time had officially run out.


	20. Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guysssss I've been so excited to drop this chapter, y'all have no idea. Also, because it's been a HELL of a day, I'm dropping it early.

“ _ He that made this knows all the cost, / For he gave all his heart and lost.” --W.B. Yeats _

 

As Dean ran through the forest, a memory arose, unbidden.

_ Dean was young, so very young that the very memory was bright and shiny, most details obscured. He played with small toy cars (or were they trains?), running the toys along the kitchen floor. John joined him. His face was free from the cares that would weigh so heavily on him; John smiled down at his young son. The two played cars for a while, racing them down the small kitchen. John let Dean win, smiling as Dean cheered, raising the winning car above his head in a gesture of victory. _

_ Mary appeared in the doorway, baby Sam on her hip. She grinned down at the pair before saying something to John. Time for bed, maybe? Dean didn’t know. All he remembered was his dad scooping him up into his arms, holding Dean securely to his chest as he followed Mary out of the kitchen.  _

_ In that moment, Dean’s world was filled with light, with safety, with love. _

The air burst from Dean’s lungs in ragged breaths as he sprinted. The orb stayed cool against his skin, a callous reminder of just how far removed Dean was from the situation at hand. He didn’t even know if it was possible to get there in time, even with Castiel’s “emergency solution.” As he ran, however, the memories kept coming, as though rattled loose by Dean’s frantic pace.

_ They had just finished one of Dean’s first hunts. It was a milestone achievement, as it was the very first time Dean had fired a gun in combat. He was nine. It was also his birthday, a fact he only knew because the gas station had a daily calendar propped up against the cash register. January 24th. That meant he was nine today. Dean knew better than to say anything, of course, so he just stared at the date, marveling at his new age as John picked up supplies.  _

_ To his surprise, among the usual supplies–jerky, beer, cigarettes–were candy bars. Quietly, Dean counted them. There were eight, their shiny, colorful wrappers glinting alluringly under the fluorescent gas station lights. John didn’t look at Dean as he paid, though after the transaction, he pushed the candy towards Dean. _

_ “Here,” John grunted, “For your birthday. Bought you as many candies as years you are old.” _

_ He didn’t. Dean was nine, not eight, but still...eight whole candy bars! That was a rare treasure, John so rarely encouraged indulgence. Dean resolved to save four of them for Sam as he gathered the candies in his arms. As Dean settled in the front seat of the Impala, he spread the candy out in his lap, in awe of his good fortune. _

_ John didn’t speak as they drove. To Dean’s surprise, John pulled off onto an overlook, the moonlight spilling onto a lake. He turned off the car, opening the front door and motioning for Dean to follow. Dean scrambled to push the candy off his lap, trying not to wake Sam, who slept in the backseat. The night air was cold, but John lifted Dean onto the hood of the Impala to sit beside him. Dean focused on not sliding off while John cracked open a beer. “You did good,” John said after a long gulp, “Might actually become a strong hunter one day.” _

_ Dean beamed, heart filling with warmth. Dad was proud of him! _

_ John took another gulp, glancing at Dean before handing the bottle his way. “Wanna try? You’re basically a man now.”  _

_ Beer was...awful. Dean didn’t know what he was expecting, but he ended up coughing on the gulp he’d taken. John laughed, a deep guffaw that made Dean smile. He was a man now! A man who would make his family proud. Dean wasn’t sure he’d had a better birthday in his life. Best of all, that night, that wonderful night, John even let Dean fall asleep against him on the hood of the car. _

How could Dean describe one good memory buried within a mess of terrible recollections? Did it hurt more, knowing there were rare occasions of kindness on John’s behalf, or less? Dean’s throat tightened, making the air in his lungs burn worse as Dean sprinted towards Castiel. 

_ Dean was seventeen and it was already very clear that, although only barely a teenager, Sam was poised to surpass his abilities. That wouldn’t have bothered Dean much, he was proud of his brother after all, but John always made such a big deal about it. Sam was faster, Sam was smarter, Sam was, as far as John was concerned, the better son. _

_ That stung. _

_ No matter how hard Dean tried, he never seemed able to regain John’s lost affection. Not that John had ever been regularly affectionate, but he was still Dean’s dad. Still one of the most important people in Dean’s life. The only person  more important was Sam, though that was because it was Dean’s mission to protect his brother. Even if Sam now seemed more capable of protecting himself. _

_ It was this love, for father and brother, that sent Dean sprinting into the warpath of a particularly violent ghost. Just in time, too. The ghost flung Dean across the room, buying Sam just enough time to reload his salt rounds and take aim. Dean blacked out before he could see what happened next. _

_ He awoke with a throbbing headache, but the look on John’s face when he opened his eyes was worth every ounce of pain. Hell, Dean would gladly sacrifice himself to see that expression of pride on John’s face. John smiled when he caught Dean’s eye, the lines around his eyes crinkling. “You saved your brother,” John said, helping Dean to his feet. He clapped Dean on the back, a rare sign of camaraderie. “I’m proud of you, Dean.” _

For Winchesters, “I’m proud of you,” was as close as any of them came to “I love you.” 

Dean’s foot caught on a root and he pitched forward, crashing onto the leaves with a strangled cry. He couldn’t stop. Couldn’t falter. Not now. Dean’s sacrifice had always his saving grace, he just needed one more. Dean pushed himself to his feet, not even bothering to wipe away the dirt as he continued to run to Castiel.

“Castiel!” Dean shouted, his voice hoarse from running. As he raced to the fae’s side, Dean fumbled in his pocket, tugging the black orb free. “We need to make that deal.”

“Briar, what happened?”

Dean shoved the orb towards Castiel, his breath catching as he once again caught sight of the scene within: Sam had found John.

How could Dean have been so foolish to think the worst that could happen was John finding Sam, when the other way around was equally horrifying? Dean couldn’t know why Sam had found John. It could have been an accident, of course, but Dean suspected other motives. Anger? Revenge? Sam and John had never gotten along, despite Sam being John’s favored successor. 

Regardless of reasons, nothing could change the fact Sam was in the same room as John. They stood together in a small motel room, not unlike the place their dad had found them all that time ago. Castiel’s enchantment protecting Sam seemed to be, for better or worse, holding strong. John’s gaze darted back and forth, sometimes catching sight of Sam, but often staring in a completely different direction. John was smart, but so was Sam, pacing at odd intervals to throw John off his track. And this time, he had magic on his side. They were talking for now, but Dean feared an altercation could only be a matter of time. It could be a matter of minutes.

“I have to save them.”

Briar stared into the orb, expression darkening. “I can’t send you there!”

“Why the hell not?” Dean cried, “If...if Sam’s this far gone, he’ll….I’ll…” his throat closed further. Dean had never imagined a situation like this, never imagined what he’d do. “I’ll lose them both.”

From within the orb, Dean watched as Sam lashed out. The nightstand lifted into the air, smashing into John. Dean bit the inside of his mouth at the sight.  _ No _ . 

“ _ Please _ ,” Dean begged, turning his gaze back to Castiel, “I’ll give anything.  _ Everything _ .”

“Even with the solution, there’s no telling what will happen! You might be too late! Or, worse, they might  _ kill you! _ ” Castiel retorted.

John pushed to standing and Dean breathed a tiny sigh of relief. Until John cocked his gun, listening for a moment before aiming it Sam’s direction. Whether or not John could see his son, that didn’t change the fact John was a seasoned hunter. Although Dean didn’t know if John was aware of how well his aim was, Dean didn’t know if his father would care. In fact, John might even prefer a deadly shot.

“I have to do something,” Dean begged, “I have to sacrifice something, Castiel–”

The fae grew still, blue eyes glued to the orb. Dean looked down and stifled a cry. The gun was no longer in John’s hand. It floated, held by nothingness, pointing at John’s temple. Sam shouted, eyes glowing, face contorted in fury. The nightmare Andy had forced Dean to live through, where Sam shot Dean in the head, was  _ nothing _ compared to this scene.

“No, no, please, god, no,” Dean mumbled, forgetting the distance between him and his family as he pulled at Castiel’s sleeve, “Please, no, no, Castiel you have to let me save them, Castiel,  _ please _ –”

The gun went off.

John crumpled.

The gun shifted in aim, shooting John again. 

And again. 

And again.

Sam reached out, grabbing the now empty gun from the air and tucking it into his pocket. He stared down at John’s body for a moment before giving it a swift kick in the ribs.

It was around that time Dean grew aware of a ragged scream echoing through the forest. To his astonishment, the sound was coming from him. He fell to his knees, the orb falling to the ground, rolling away. There was no greater torture than for Dean, who was trained since childhood to save his family, to be forced to  _ watch _ as his brother, consumed with darkness, murdered their dad. Their  _ family. _

Logically, Dean knew his father hadn’t been kind to him. Logically, Dean knew his father very well might have left him to die if push came to shove. Logically, Dean knew it was possible John held next to no feeling for Dean. But in his heart, bound with love and loyalty, Dean felt the loss so deeply it felt like the pain might kill him.

“Briar,” Castiel whispered, placing a gentle hand on Dean’s shoulder, “I am sorry.”

The motion jarred Dean, unlocking a fury in his chest. Sorry?  _ Sorry?  _ Castiel had  _ denied _ Dean the chance to save his family and the fae thought the best to do would to be gentle? To be sorry? Dean barely registered standing, or his fingers curling into a fist, which he sent flying into Castiel’s nose.

Castiel was stunned, but otherwise unphased. Dean punched him again. 

And again. 

And again. 

He punched the fae so many times that his fist bruised, his knuckles cracked. Good. Dean deserved to be in pain. Dean faltered when he caught sight of Castiel’s face. Although the fae was unscathed by Dean’s attacks, his eyes were rimmed with red, tears trickling down his cheeks.

Dean wailed, slamming both fists into Castiel’s chest. “ _ How could you do this to me? _ ”

“I am  _ so very sorry _ ,” Castiel reached a hand towards Dean’s cheek, though he paused before they made contact. “I never wanted to cause you pain.”

Without meaning to, Dean leaned into the touch. He didn’t deserve it, of course. It was Dean’s fault his father was dead, Dean’s fault that Sam was so overtaken by Lucifer’s darkness that he would kill John. But Dean was weak. He always had been. So he didn’t resist Castiel’s comforting touch, instead pressing his face into Castiel’s chest, trying desperately to stem the flow of tears.

“You love your family,” Castiel continued, “I had thought...hoped…” he took a deep breath, “I needed to find a way for you to be with them. You deserved freedom, happiness…”

“My dad,” Dean croaked.

“He tried to kill you,” Castiel reminded Dean gently.

“I know,” Dean exhaled a shuddering breath, “So why do I still care about him?”

Castiel’s lips ghosted Dean’s head. “Humans are strange,” he whispered, “So fragile and yet...your hearts...you have the capacity to love beyond reason.”

“Are you saying it’s a good thing?” Dean didn’t look up at Castiel. He tried to stem the pain that ached beneath his ribcage, but nothing seemed to make it stop. “That it’s good to hurt this much over someone like him?”

“I do not think the capacity to love is good or bad,” Castiel responded softly, “It just...exists.”

“I wish it wouldn’t.”

“Briar.”

“I lost my dad today. I lost my  _ brother _ today, he’s as good as gone to the darkness. Hell, I was probably the reason I lost my mom!” Dean cried, “My family’s gone and I’m useless and it  _ hurts _ .”

Castiel remained silent for a moment, holding Dean close. “It might not be too late for Sam.”

Dean’s head snapped back up so quickly he hurt his neck. “I’ll do anything.”

“I hate that,” Castiel sighed, letting go of Dean at last, “But you’re right. We are running out of time and there is only one option available to us.”

“So, what’s the big catch with this deal?” Dean asked. He found himself hoping it would be big. Maybe something painful, or awful. Some sort of suffering that would punish him for failure. “What’s the reason we couldn’t do it before?”

“In order to imbue you with the power necessary to save your brother,” Castiel said hesitantly, “You would need to reciprocate similarly.”

“What do you mean? What are we talking here? My body? My name?”

“Your heart.”

“You gonna kill me?”

Castiel was scandalized. “Not your actual heart, Briar. Your…it’s hard to describe, but, your...” he faltered, mouth opening and closing as he tried to find a word, “love. You give me your love and I would…” he ran a hand over his face. “I know, given the everything, it’s asking too much. It’s something you do not want to give.”

His love? Dean thought about it. What had love brought him? Pain? Sorrow? Love was the reason his chest felt like it was collapsing, the reason his throat was raw from screaming. Fae might find love powerful, but it was like the ocean; it was going to drown Dean. Love would be the death of him.

“I’ll do it.”

“I know you will,” Castiel sighed, then looked up at Dean with an odd expression of hope, “But...if things were different...would you  _ want _ to?”

“Of course!” Dean said, wondering why the pain of loving would be worth so much to the fae, “I’d give it to you in a heartbeat.”

Castiel’s eyes lit up, brightening like sky after a storm. Dean felt an odd rush of affection for the fae, he looked so  _ happy _ , and for what? Because he was helping Dean? Nobody had ever been happy to help Dean before. It would be the only disappointing thing about giving up his love, Dean decided, losing that love for Castiel. 

Funny, it took losing his ability to love to make him admit what he felt for the fae.

Of course, losing his love was a necessary sacrifice. Dean had always been willing to put his own happiness on the line to save Sam, this was no different. It was Dean’s duty to save Sam. And now, just one more thing to lose and they might actually be free. Besides, Dean reasoned with a heavy heart, Castiel deserved someone better than Dean anyway.

“Are you ready?” Castiel asked quietly.

Dean glanced up at Castiel, feeling an odd pang of adoration. The fae was a small sailboat in Dean’s ocean of sorrow, buoying him up. But that was the problem with small joys in the face of such darkness; each ray of sunshine only made the darkness seem darker. And besides, Dean didn’t want to know what pain would await him if he lost Sam for good.

Losing John was already more compromising than Dean could have ever anticipated.

“I wish we could have done this differently,” Castiel whispered, “I wish…” he shook his head, “I suppose it does not matter.”

He stepped closer to Dean and Dean felt his heartbeat race. One last time being close, one last time relishing in the way Castiel seemed to fill his whole world with a single glance. “I do–” Dean started, though he caught himself before he could finish. After all, what good would his love for Castiel be now? Why give the fae one single ray of sunlight before snatching away the sky? No, better that Castiel believe his love unreciprocated. 

Castiel huffed a laugh. “At least I am not the only one stumbling over words today.”

Dean grinned and for the briefest moment, they were back to old times. Back to the days when Dean arrived in Castiel’s forest by dream. A pang of sorrow crashed against Dean’s heart, however, as he remembered those nights were accompanied by mornings waking up to his family. “We should do this fast,” he said, not meeting Castiel’s eyes, “I don’t know how much longer Sam has left.”

The fae nodded. He reached out hesitantly, cupping Dean’s cheeks in his hands. Dean leaned into the touch, his heart aching. So, this was the way they were to do it, then? One final kiss. It seemed poetic. Although Dean also felt some semblance of relief at the thought of being freed from his emotions, the weight of love pulling on his chest, his shoulders, whole being. Love was a dark, heavy thing.

Castiel was so close now, his nose brushing against Dean’s. “Envision your offering, Briar,” he whispered. 

Dean closed his eyes, drawing all the pain, the sorrow, and yes, the small moments of joy, into something transferrable. He couldn’t help but get the feeling that this would be their final trade. The last time he would see Castiel. Dean held his ability to love in his mind and then Castiel’s lips crashed against his and the world seemed to fade to white. At Castiel’s touch, Dean’s heart sang...then grew still.

When Dean opened his eyes, he found something had been hung around his neck. He looked down to find, to his surprise, an amulet. Not just any amulet,  _ his _ amulet, the one with a golden horned head that he’d bought in an antiques store for the fae all that time ago. Dean frowned, running his fingertips along the still-warm metal. Why had he gotten this for Castiel in the first place? Some sort of trade? 

The amulet hummed at his touch and Dean realized there was something immensely powerful locked inside. Dean knew, innately, there was enough power to escape the fae realm, to go wherever he wanted. To  _ do _ whatever he wanted. Dean blinked thoughtfully, what had he wanted to do? 

Duty tugged at his mind, reminding him: Sam. Right. It was Dean’s job to fix Sam. To remove the monstrous parts of him, to protect him, as John had demanded. John was dead, of course, which Dean didn’t particularly mind. John, after all, got in the way of Dean’s duty to his brother. John had wanted to hurt Sam.

What had he traded away to earn this much immense power? 

Curious, Dean glanced up at the fae. The glowing green stone in the center of his circlet flickered for a moment before the light died, leaving an ordinary jade in its place. In the fae’s hand sat a small round stone, a very dark purple, although a few thin white lines intersected the center like a star. To Dean’s surprise, the fae looked horrified, staring at the stone as though he’d never seen anything like it. 

But Dean didn’t have time to dwell on that. He had a brother to save. 

“Thanks for the power up,” Dean said, giving him a small salute. 

“ _ Briar _ ,” the fae breathed, voice ragged. Broken, almost. Whatever the trade had been, it was not to his liking.

Dean didn’t know what to say. He had a brother to save, he didn’t have  _ time  _ for this. Shrugging,  Dean took the amulet in his hand. The power was strangely intuitive and Dean felt confident he’d be able to use it without much trouble. 

“Guess that’s what you get for trading with a human,” Dean shrugged, pulling from the well of power trapped within the amulet to tug himself into the human world.

What was the fae so torn up about anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact! The W.B. Yeats quote above was the inspiration for this entire story :D


	21. Intervention

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yikes grad school is kicking my butt

_ “Lies one long sought / With despair” --W.B. Yeats _

 

Although the forest looked similar, Dean knew immediately he’d made it back to the human realm. It was hard to describe how he knew, how could anyone convey the fact the air didn’t seem still, or the way his body moved across the space, or the odd sensation the linear progression of time passing at a regulated pace? Regardless, Dean was back. All that was left was to find Sam.

Strangely, Dean was in the same West Virginia forest where he’d first met Castiel. The universe was funny that way, bookending their relationship with simple finality. Judging by the expression on Castiel’s face when he saw what Dean traded, the fae wouldn’t be all too happy to see him anyway. Castiel was a decent connection, but with John gone, Sam soon to be cured and Dean powered up with his own dose of fae power, well, Castiel had lost his usefulness. 

Now, Castiel just posed a risk of entrapping Dean. Best to sever the connection completely.

Not that it mattered. For now, Dean’s job was to purge the darkness from Sam. Of course, the first order of business would be to find him. The orb didn’t really give many details on Sam’s location; the view was often too close on Sam and not on any defining features of nearby landscape. Besides, Dean had left the orb with Castiel. No point in going back for it now. 

Instead, Dean focused on the present as he made his way out of the forest. The air was cool and sharp, the dregs of winter still remained, and Dean relished in the discomfort as he reached the edge of a road. It made him feel more alive. Whatever he’d given to Castiel, while certainly removing a weight from his shoulders, also made the world feel...slightly strange. Dean couldn’t articulate how, or why, so instead opted to focus on sensations he could definitively name. It was mildly cold outside. Dean knew how to handle that.

The next step was stealing a car. Dean nearly laughed aloud at his past foolishness. Why he and Sam didn’t bother to abandon the Impala the first chance they got was beyond him. After all, that thing stood out like a sore thumb, and it wasn’t like they didn’t know how to hotwire a vehicle. He snagged the first car he could find, a 1990 Honda Civic. Bit beat up, but it still ran. That was enough for Dean.

As Dean started on the task of finding his brother, he quickly found the pattern fell into the same sort of way he’d go about a hunt. Dean tracked down a public library, using their internet to pull up any information on bar fights (of which there were many), murders (fewer), and sightings of humans with glowing eyes (unsurprisingly, even less). 

John, it seemed, was murdered in a motel in Boise, Idaho. It didn’t say his name, of course, but the details all checked out. A John Doe (the irony wasn’t lost on Dean) with multiple bullet wounds to the head and chest. Dean stared at the news report, amazed he didn’t feel the slightest bit of sadness. Then again, he was finally free of that bastard, what was there to be sad about? In fact, Dean had to resist the urge to hum a cheerful tune as he continued his research.

Eventually, Dean began to pull together a pattern. At least three yellow-eyed sightings had happened within the last couple days, all in South Dakota. Castiel had mentioned the weaker ones had already started gathering. And even if Sam wasn’t there yet, after John’s murder, Dean couldn’t help but think it would only be a matter of time before his brother gave in to the incomprehensible urge to make his way to South Dakota.

Dean just had to get to Sam before his brother made it to whatever creepy rendezvous was going down in South Dakota. He’d purge Sam of the darkness and they’d go back to ganking shit together. That was Dean’s job. Protect Sam and protect civilians. A pretty noble duty, all things considered.

Of course, there was also the possibility that Sam wouldn’t go down without a fight. Or, worse, Sam might not be purged at all. Dean considered that option briefly. What would he do if Sam couldn’t be saved? Which duty would be more important? Protecting a corrupted Sam or stopping him from hurting people? Dean frowned, turning off his library computer as he made his way back to the stolen car.

Still, Dean was fairly certain he’d know what he’d do in that situation.

But first? Rest. Even with the strangely pulsing amulet on his chest, Dean still found himself growing tired. Evidently Castiel’s powers did not extend to keeping Dean going without care. It was a bit inconvenient, but Dean would manage. He stopped at a motel in the middle of nowhere Iowa, mostly to ensure he didn’t drive his stolen merchandise off the road.

He’d hoped for a dreamless slumber. After all, Dean had gotten used to it in the fae realm: sleep had always came easy there. But to Dean’s utter annoyance, he dreamed. Worst, he dreamed of Castiel. Unlike most of their dreams together, however, Dean didn’t manifest himself in one of Castiel’s forests. No, this time, Castiel appeared in Dean’s motel room. 

Dark circles ran under Castiel’s eyes and the wood in his crown was dried and cracking. “Briar,” Castiel said, “Please come back.”

“Not gonna happen.” 

“ _ Please _ .”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “What’s in it for me? Because you know what? I feel better than I ever have. You finally made up for letting my brother go insane and murder my dad.”

“Are you sad about the loss of your father?”

“Not anymore,” Dean shrugged, “Now I’m doing pretty damn awesome.”

Castiel’s shoulders fell. “I am so sorry.”

As he spoke, the amulet hummed against Dean’s chest. Dean frowned. Was Castiel trying to steal back what he’d given Dean? That wasn’t going to happen. He could feel the power inside the amulet and was confident it would be enough to stop his brother. Nobody was going to stop Dean from fulfilling his destiny. He curled his fingers protectively around the amulet, as though Castiel was planning to rip it from his chest.

Still, Dean was curious. “What’s there to be sorry about?”

“I…” Castiel sighed, eyes downcast, “I cannot explain. I do not know  _ how _ to explain.”

“Nice argument, Cas,” Dean threw the nickname in for spite, “But you know you don’t hold any sway over me anymore, right? I’m not coming back.”

The fae glanced up at Dean, but looked away. “This was a mistake,” he muttered, almost to himself.

“You’re telling me,” Dean barked a laugh, “Now can you leave? Or will I have to make you go? I’ve got stuff to do tomorrow and I’d like to sleep.”

Castiel opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but his face scrunched up in pain. He grabbed his head, dropping to his knees with a groan. Dean watched, mildly curious, as Castiel took a few deep breaths, using quite a bit of effort to return to standing. “I can’t keep this up,” Castiel muttered, swaying on the spot for a moment before he vanished entirely.

The rest of Dean’s sleep was dreamless. 

When he woke up, Dean found the strange dream comforting. Castiel was weaker than usual and, judging by Dean’s lack of interest, his sway over Dean seemed to have dissolved entirely. He wasn’t going to get in Dean’s way. With that cheerful thought, Dean started back on the road, snacking on a handful of jerky he’d bought at a gas station along the way. 

Dean drove in silence, allowing himself to fall into a vague, thoughtless rhythm as he drove towards South Dakota. His past self would have been worried, scared, even, but with Castiel’s magic cure, Dean felt like he could take on the world. He could do anything.

He tested that theory at an empty rest stop in the middle of Iowa. First, Dean tried to levitate a napkin someone had left on a picnic table. Classic Jedi trick. The napkin hovered easily. In fact, it only took slightly more power to get the entire picnic table to levitate too. Sweet. Other tricks seemed to include sending powerful pulses of energy from his fingertips and catching things on fire. (Dean figured that one out the hard way.)

The only problem, as far as Dean could tell, was the sensation of the power. Although hard to explain, the magic felt like Cas, like the fae was everywhere: surrounding Dean, filling him, spilling from his mouth and fingertips. It was...uncomfortable. Dean didn’t want to share the power with anyone, certainly not that fae. The power seemed to mock him. It felt like it could be Dean’s power, but it wasn’t, not entirely. It emphasized Dean’s dependence.

Still, it was useful. And Dean wasn’t about to let an incredible source of power out of his arsenal just because it was  _ uncomfortable _ . So he continued to wear the amulet around his neck as he drove, ignoring the strange sensation of Castiel. If this meant saving Sam, so be it. 

Dean rested again as he reached the outskirts of South Dakota. He’d debated about just calling Sam, after all, that might make finding his brother easier, but it also ran the risk of spooking or angering him. After all, Dean didn’t know what Sam thought about Dean’s disappearance. His brother could very well assume Dean had abandoned him...and Dean doubted that appearing out of nowhere would go over very well. So, hunting for Sam it was.

That night, Castiel did not appear in Dean’s dreams. 

The next morning was another foray into a library computer lab, where Dean discovered rumors about people congregating in a small ghost town called Cold Oak. Huh. That certainly sounded promisingly creepy. Whether it was a gateway to Lucifer’s realm or not, the headlines of strange disturbances and odd sights certainly seemed promising. And if John died in Boise, that would mean Sam would be heading there from the west, at least, he would if he wasn’t making any diversions. 

Then again, Sam had a head start. He could already be there.

So, Cold Oaks it was. Dean considered, briefly, investing in some weaponry, before remembering that even John, armed with a rifle, was taken down with ease by Sam and his new powers. No, better to rely on Castiel’s amulet. If Dean tucked it under his shirt, Sam might not even realize Dean had been given a new source of power. 

He’d hoped to sneak into Cold Oaks, but that proved difficult given the whole “abandoned ghost town” aspect of the town. There were a few cars parked outside a poor excuse of a fence, including, Dean realized, the Impala. Dad’s Impala. Sam was here, somewhere. 

Dean scanned the town. It wasn’t particularly big. There was a large bell in the middle of the town and a few rickety wood buildings. A few more empty frames stood, though walls or roofs were collapsed. Graffiti lined a number of the walls, including a detailed rendering of a yellow-eyed devil surrounded by flames. Another building, a saloon, judging by the sign, seemed to be covered in animal skulls. The whole place had a vaguely creepy vibe, which seemed to be on point with whatever Lucifer was planning. 

Of course, Dean couldn’t just go in guns blazing. He was  _ not _ about to find out what sorts of powers the other yellow-eyed soldiers had, nor was he interested in testing the extent of Castiel’s powers. He just needed to get in, save Sam, and get out. If he could conserve enough power, they might even be able to take on Lucifer afterwards. Lucifer. Dean ground his teeth at the thought. He posed the clearest danger, not just to Sam, but the public in general. If the fae couldn’t take him out, maybe Dean could. 

But first, saving Sam.

Dean waited by the cars for a while, watching as a few people wandered in and out of the saloon. One looked like he could be Andy. Another was a young woman, Dean thought he recognized her from one of their other cases. Finally,  _ finally _ , when night fell, Dean caught sight of Sam making his way to the cars. Dean prayed they could both keep it together long enough to confront each other properly away from the other yellow-eyed children.

As Sam reached the Impala, Dean stepped out into the moonlight. “Hey, bitch,” he said casually, as though catching Sam kissing a girl at the bar, rather than trying to stop a potential danger.

Sam stopped short, whipping out a pistol. Unafraid, Dean raised his hands, wandering closer to his brother. Something felt off about Sam. Dean was almost certain if he’d peered through the adder stone, his brother would be covered in the ominous yellow cloud that had haunted them for so long. 

“Dean…” Sam whispered, though he kept his gun leveled at his brother, “What the  _ fuck? _ ”

“Been a while, I know. Sorry for ditching you–”

Sam barked a laugh. “Ditching me? You mean flat out abandoning me to face Dad alone?” 

“Wasn’t on purpose.”

Sam scoffed, taking a step towards Dean, gun still aimed. “Well, thanks for nothing. Had to take care of Dad on my own,” he paused, adding, “I killed him, Dean.”

“I know.”

That wasn’t the reaction Sam wanted, judging by the way his jaw clenched. He glared at Dean. “What are you doing here now? Come to get revenge for Dad?”

Now it was Dean’s turn to laugh as he took a casual step towards his brother. He should be scared, but he wasn’t. Not in the slightest. He had come to purge Sam of the darkness, and Dean wasn’t going to be stopped. “I don’t give a shit about him, Sam. I’m here for you.”

“Why?”

“Can we talk about it somewhere else?”

“Not sure I want to.” Sam tilted his head in the direction of the ghost town, “See, in the time you’ve been gone, I’ve found myself a new family. One who understands me.”

“Oh, I understand you more than you realize,” Dean took yet another step forward. They were so close they could almost touch. Sam’s aim hadn’t wavered. “So, can we talk about it somewhere else?”

Sam frowned. “You’ve changed.”

“So have you.”

A flash of inspiration struck Dean and he lunged, catching Sam by the waist. As he did so, Dean tugged on the power of the amulet, focusing his thoughts on  _ away _ . In the blink of an eye, the ghost town vanished, replaced by a forest of pines and the familiar trickle of a nearby stream. Dean swore. Evidently Castiel’s sway held more power than Dean gave it credit for. Why else would they end up so damningly close to the fae’s realm?

Still, Dean didn’t have time to think about that now. Sam fired the gun and Dean acted on instinct, using his mind to tug the gun from Sam’s grasp and send it flying into the trees. “I’m here to help you,” Dean said.

“Really?” Sam’s eyes burned yellow, “Sure seems like you’re here to kick my ass.”

He reached out a hand, sending Dean flying across the forest. Dean hit a tree with a nasty  _ crack _ , but managed to stand back up. Now the adrenaline was pumping. Sam caught him again, raising him high into the air with his powers, but this time, Dean fired a pulse of energy back, hitting Sam square in the chest. Dean barely managed to cushion his own fall, but he did it. 

“This is not a fight you’re gonna win!” Dean shouted, sending another pulse to keep Sam from standing.

Sam retorted by sending two trees crashing down on Dean. Dean incinerated one, dodged the other. Ash drifted in the air like fallen snow. “What’s the deal, Dean?” Sam growled, using the diversion to bring himself back to standing, “You couldn’t stand the fact I’m always  _ better _ than you?”

“You’re corrupted!”

“And you’re  _ not? _ ” Sam snapped, using his power to tug at Dean’s ankles, flipping Dean upside down. “You’re powered up too!”

He sent Dean flying again. Dean hit his head against the trunk, crumpling with a groan. The amulet pulsed and Dean felt Castiel lift him back up. Creepy, but useful. “I want my brother back!” Dean cried.

Sam laughed darkly. “You want your brother?” he gestured at himself, “I’m here, Dean. I’ve always been here. That shadow of myself, that simpering little baby? That was an  _ act _ . You want to know the real me, Dean?” he sauntered towards Dean, grabbing him by the neck. His grip was supernaturally strong. “The real me was glad you disappeared. The real me killed Dad in cold blood and  _ enjoyed _ it. The real me is going to stop anything that gets in my way,” his grip tightened, “including you.”

The grip might have been uncomfortable, but the monologue was just long enough for Dean to focus on the darkness within Sam and start to pull. Unbidden, Sam’s head violently tilted skyward, his mouth opening in a scream as a trail of yellow smoke began to exit. Good. Dean was going to purge his brother. He was going to fix him.

Sam’s grip loosened on Dean, giving Dean more power to focus on violently expelling the darkness from his brother. As more yellow smoke left, Dean pulled harder, ignoring Sam’s screams. Soon, the yellow glow began to fade and a dim blueish light took its place. Unsure of what it was, Dean continued to pull. He wasn’t about to fail at his only job. Unfortunately, the final strain proved harder to expel, taking all the power Dean possessed, but still he pulled. Sam’s screams crescendoed.

“You need to stop, Briar,” Castiel growled from behind him and Dean’s single-minded focus snapped. Although the yellow smoke was gone, the blue glow began to descend back into Sam.

“You need to  _ leave _ ,” Dean snarled furiously, mustering enough power to send the fae flying. To his surprise, it only made Castiel stumble, though his crown tumbled from his head, cracking in two on the forest floor. 

Castiel didn’t even give the crown another glance, his eyes trained on Dean. “I will not let you do something you will regret. Come back, Briar.”

“ _ No! _ ” Dean cried, sending a wave of fire at Castiel before turning back to Sam. His brother lay unconscious on the forest floor, but that didn’t change the fact he still needed to be purged. He needed to be purged until there was nothing left.

To his frustration, however, Castiel stood between him and Sam. “Briar, come back with me.”

“I’m  _ not coming back! _ ” Dean shouted, “I’m not going to be a shadow of what I was.”

He mustered a powerful blast, far more powerful than any he’d tried in the past. Castiel’s eyes widened. “Briar, you’ll hurt your brother!”

Dean hesitated. He didn’t want to hurt Sam. Protecting Sam was his job. But maybe his brother couldn’t be saved. Who knew how far the corruption went? It could come back up again, flare up when neither of them expected it. Maybe, there was no saving his brother. Maybe there never  _ was _ any saving his brother, maybe Dean’s duty had always been misplaced. But there was saving himself.

The fae made a strangled cry. He reached out to Dean for a fraction of an instant, before pulling his hand back to his chest. Then he turned his back on Dean, rushing towards Sam. Dean mustered another blast. If it meant taking out the fae, so be it. In the blink of an eye, however, both the fae and Dean’s brother were gone, vanished in the wake of Dean’s wave of power.


	22. Wesson

_ “But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, / And loved the sorrows of your changing face” --W.B. Yeats _

 

_ ~Castiel~ _

 

Castiel collapsed in his realm with a cry of pain. It had taken much of his reserves just to transport himself to and from the fae realm and now he had another human in tow. With his crown gone, it was only a matter of time before the rest of his realm began to decay. Without his heart...well, there wasn’t much hope of anything returning back to normal.

Castiel bit his cheek, trying not to cry. He’d been so foolish.  _ So foolish _ . After all, what fae gave up their heart to a human?

It wasn’t supposed to end up this way. Castiel had gotten the idea from Gilda, who had loved her human so much, they had initiated one last trade: Charlie gave Gilda her heart and Gilda exchanged the favor. It was a marriage of sorts, a union of souls. Charlie’s love gave Gilda’s heart more power, and vice versa. They were forever bonded, and Gilda’s realm was stronger for it.

Castiel wanted that much with Briar, but Briar had always seemed so uncertain. What’s more, with the confusing fantasy Briar traded--a strangely beautiful scene where Briar wanting to give Castiel his true name--Castiel was constantly in disarray. Had that been a sign? A warning? Castiel never knew, never wanted to bring it up, but he wanted to do right by Briar. He loved Briar. Still, Castiel had no idea what was best for Briar. So of course, Castiel couldn’t suggest the exchange of hearts. Briar would choose it as a way to save his brother, not because he truly loved Castiel.

Ironically, the very thing Castiel feared happened anyway.

Worse, though, the trade went horribly wrong. Briar didn’t exchange his heart. A heart was many things, it was power and memory and strength and  _ love _ , but that wasn’t what Briar gave to Castiel. Instead of his heart, he gave away his  _ ability _ to love. And Castiel didn’t realize it until it was far too late. On Briar’s chest rested an immense well of power and no way to access the love necessary to keep it properly charged. Briar didn’t love at all, not anymore. He couldn’t recharge Castiel’s life force.

Even more disturbing, leaving a fae heart in the hands of a human without love, without empathy, was a horrifying prospect. If Briar was willing to kill his own brother, Castiel feared what would happen next. Unfortunately, he was powerless to stop Briar. Instead, apparently, Castiel was doomed to die alone in his decaying realm, a warning tale to all other fae:  _ never _ give up their hearts to humans.

Briar’s brother groaned beside him, reminding Castiel that he was not, in fact, alone.

Great, he’d die in his decaying realm next to the brother of the man he loved. Somehow, the thought was not comforting. What Castiel wanted to do was lay in the dead leaves, allowing the sensation of time to wash over him, but he couldn’t bring himself to abandon Briar’s brother. Gritting his teeth, Castiel pulled himself upright, checking to see if Sam was okay.

In Briar’s push to purge his brother of Lucifer’s darkness, he’d almost purged his brother of his essence, his soul. Briar had essentially almost killed Sam in attempting to save him. Yet another reason Castiel’s trade had been a mistake. He should have been more clear, should have tried something else, should have… Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose, dismissing the thought. The world could waste away in  _ should-haves _ .

To Castiel’s relief, Sam seemed fine. His soul was intact. Castiel had come, it seemed, just in time, and while the young man might be exhausted, he would likely suffer no lasting damage. Sam looked so small in the leaves, his shaggy hair covering his eyes, jacket slightly too big. A stone hummed in Castiel’s robe. It was one of Briar’s, the round star garnet that housed Briar’s ability to love. Castiel tapped into it, feeling Briar’s immense affection for his brother. 

The rush of affection made Castiel miss Briar all the more.

Sam groaned, regaining Castiel’s attention. The young man rubbed his head, squinting at the forest. “Where the hell am I?” he mumbled. As he caught sight of Castiel, Sam scrambled backwards. “Who are you?”

Castiel checked to ensure his magic remained leashed, much as he’d done with his time with Briar. The sensation of fae magic could be disconcerting, especially when experienced for the first time. Thankfully, although he knew Sam’s name, no contract could be made unless Castiel spoke it aloud. And, even better, Castiel realized his magic was dwindling anyway. No point in trying to ensnare humans when he was trying to keep himself and his realm alive. An untethered heart was sure to wither.

“I am Castiel,” Castiel replied softly, “I was a friend to your brother.”

“You’re not human.”

“No,” Castiel shook his head, “I’m fae.”

Sam whipped a knife from his jacket. “What did you do to my brother?”

Castiel had to smother a fond smile. Already, the similarities between Sam and his brother were beginning to emerge. The thought of Briar, however, made the hint of a good mood fade quickly. “Your brother is...safe,” Castiel said hesitantly. Safe, of course, was relative, but at least Castiel was fairly certain Briar wasn’t dead. He could still feel some tether to Briar as long as he bore his heart, though that power was already beginning to fade.

“Where am I?”

“My realm. I had to take you to safety.”

“Safety? But...D–” Castiel slapped a swift hand over Sam’s mouth. If Briar was not going to give Castiel his true name, it seemed wrong to get it from his brother. The action startled Sam, who held his knife to Castiel’s throat. 

“We do not use true names here,” Castiel replied fiercely. He had long ago decided that if he was to hear Briar’s true name, it would be spoken to him from Briar’s lips. Though, of course, the way things were going now, he likely wouldn’t hear it at all. Sam shot him a suspicious look, but removed his blade.

“You didn’t bind to my brother?” 

“Never,” Castiel felt an odd wave of sorrow at that statement. He had never wanted to bind himself to anyone before Briar. 

Sam looked Castiel up and down, hazel eyes shrewd and calculating. Dean was right, his brother was very smart. “You can call me Wesson.”

“Very well, Wesson. It is nice to officially meet you.”

Sam extended a hand–Castiel couldn’t help but call him by his true name in his mind–and Castiel tentatively took it. “Nice to meet you too, uh, Cast…” he trailed off, “Cas.”

“Briar called me that too,” Castiel smiled fondly, heart aching at the memory. It was no wonder Briar chose to rid himself of his ability to love. Love could be a great burden. 

“He come up with that name?” Sam asked with a snort.

“I did,” Castiel replied, “It seemed fitting of his prickly personality and stunning green eyes.”

Sam raised an eyebrow but didn’t comment. Instead, he scanned the forest with an odd frown. Even in their short interactions, it was clear he was very bright. “You mind filling me in on what happened?” Sam asked, “It’s a bit fuzzy right now.”

“What do you last remember?”

Sam rubbed his temples. “I was in a motel room with…” he paused carefully, “my brother. And then my dad showed up. Something happened, we ran into the forest...but it was snowy. It’s...warmer now, isn’t it?”

He looked up at Castiel for answers and the fae realized, to his horror, that Sam didn’t seem to remember what he’d done under Lucifer’s corruption. Sam didn’t know he’d murdered his father. Was that something a stranger should tell a human? Castiel pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to think of a solution. Briar would have known the answer, he probably would have told Castiel as much in that light-hearted tone he used. Briar…the thought made Castiel fight another wave of tears.

“You okay?” Sam paused, then added a panicked, “Is my brother okay?”

How did one tell a near stranger that he’d ruined their brother? How could Castiel articulate that Briar chose to rip out his own emotions rather than bond with Castiel. How could Castiel admit that he was the love-sick fool who armed Briar beyond imagination? “Your brother is not in any danger.”

“And you?”

Castiel smiled wanly. “Dying.”

“Why?”

“To save you,” Castiel admittedly, “Do remember having dreams of a yellow-eyed man?”

Sam shot him a mistrustful look, but slowly nodded. “Nightmares of becoming him.” He paused, eyes widening. “Did I–”

“Yes,” Castiel interrupted. He didn’t want Sam to have to say aloud the things he did. It seemed a cruelty to have Sam face the full weight of the situation without his brother present to comfort him. Not that Briar was in any mindset to comfort Sam, thanks to Castiel’s lack of foresight. “Briar made a deal to save you.”

“You took something from him?”

“He gave it away freely,” Castiel corrected, “Only twice did I dictate the terms of our deals, once for my own comfort and once for his safety. All other times, I allowed Briar to give what he wished.”

“How many times did you trade?”

“I have lost track,” Cas admitted, though he had treasured each small memory Briar had traded away. He kept them in a small pouch in his robe, unwilling, especially now, to be parted from any part of Briar. 

“How long has he known you?”

“It...seems to be around six months, in human time. Though that amount means little within the fae realm.” 

Sam paced the forest. “He was visiting a fae for that long? Why didn’t he tell me?”

“He mentioned your father seemed to dislike fae.”

“But I’m not dad,” Sam replied mournfully, “He’s my brother, I thought he’d trust me.”

“Trust is a dangerous thing,” Castiel replied hesitantly. Briar, it seemed, kept many secrets. While the secret that most broke Castiel’s heart was Briar’s refusal to make the exchange, he knew Sam must also be hurting. Briar had only known Castiel a short time, he’d been Sam’s brother most of his life. Keeping secrets from Sam was a serious decision indeed.

“What did my brother trade away for me?” Sam demanded, “His life? His...his freedom?” 

“If I stole your brother’s freedom, he would be by my side,” Castiel snarled, hurt at the thought he would ask such things of Briar. Anger, however, was a draining emotion. Moments later, as the anger left him, Castiel found he had to lean against a tree to keep upright. 

“Your brother gave me this,” he whispered, tugging the star garnet from his robe.

Castiel held the star garnet out towards Sam, who hesitantly touched it. Tears pricked Sam’s eyes, though he quickly jerked away from the stone and rubbed his hand across his face to disguise the show of emotion. “What is it?”

“Briar’s ability to love.”

“And what did you give him?”

Castiel smiled sadly, not meeting Sam’s eye. “My heart.”

“Damn.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, slowly sitting down on a nearby stump. “This is...a lot to process.” Hesitantly, he brought his knees up to his chest, hugging them like an oversized child. With a whimper, Sam dropped his head to his knees. He sat there a moment before hopping back up, pacing even more than before.

“If my brother doesn’t have a heart–”

“–doesn’t have the ability to love,” Castiel corrected. A heart held many things, love only being a fraction. Castiel ached for his own heart. He ached for Briar’s. 

“If he doesn’t have the ability to love,” Sam amended, “ _ And _ magic fae power he could be dangerous...he could...oh  _ god _ , he could go after our dad.”

Oh. Given Sam’s knowledge of the situation, it was no wonder he worried for their father. Castiel could feel Briar’s complicated love for his father, etched and broken and tenuous, within the stone. His father was unkind, but Briar was so full of kindness, so much so that he couldn’t bring himself to fully hate the man who had hurt him.

No wonder Briar wanted to be rid of the burden.

Now, that duty fell to Castiel. Gently, he placed a hand on Sam’s shoulder. The man stopped short, turning to face Castiel, his expression so earnest, so scared, that Castiel didn’t know what to say. He took a deep breath, praying Briar might forgive him if he did wrong, then spoke. “Your father is dead, Wesson,” Castiel said softly.

“Dead?” Sam’s voice cracked, “How?”

“It was...very unfortunate. Your brother knew more of the details than me.” Castiel kept his grip on Sam’s shoulder, trying to ground him. He knew omitting the truth was a dangerous game, but it seemed like too much responsibility to place on Sam’s shoulders now. It had to be hard enough waking up in the realm of a stranger.

“I am sorry,” Castiel replied, not meeting Sam’s eyes, “But at least your brother can’t–”

“–yeah, sure,” Sam sniffled, wiping his eyes briefly. “Can I, uh, process some more stuff? Alone?” 

Castiel nodded. “Of course,” he replied, “Follow the stream south if you need me.”

This would be so much easier with Briar, but Castiel couldn’t allow himself to fall down the well of self-pity. After all, comforting Sam was only the beginning. The trouble would be trying to find Briar before he caused too many problems. Even with his heart, traveling to Earth areas outside his realm was taxing, meaning Castiel couldn’t properly chase Briar. He couldn’t send Sam either, Briar had more than enough power to kill his brother if he felt Sam was getting in the way.

He could leave the problem for other fae, but they would surely kill Briar. 

The alternative would be to let Briar burn through the power within Castiel’s heart...but Castiel wasn’t even sure what would happen after the power ran out. Castiel was bound by their deal, he could not take his heart back without permission. But without a heart or alternative sources of power, Castiel (and, more importantly, his realm) would surely die. Castiel bit back tears. They weren’t productive, of course, but the whole situation was so vastly overwhelming. 

Stupidly, selfishly, Castiel pulled Briar’s fantasy from his pouch, allowing himself to sink into the dappled sunlight of that joyful scene. He watched them banter, smiling fondly as Briar teased him.

_ Briar huffed a laugh. “Who’d have thought that I’d be begging you to let me give you my name?” he grinned, pressing a lazy kiss to Castiel’s mouth.  _

Castiel wanted to tell him he didn’t need it. Didn’t want it, even. 

“ _ I just want you whole,”  _ Castiel whispered, closing his eyes as he allowed himself to take the position of his doppleganger, pressing his lips to Briar’s. “ _ I am so sorry for breaking you. _ ”

He wrapped one arm around Briar’s shoulder, weaving his fingers in Briar’s hair. Castiel pressed his other hand to Briar’s chest, kissing Briar again. “ _ There is no other mortal I would have given my heart _ .” 

Something hummed under Castiel’s palm in response. As he opened his eyes, Castiel found, to his astonishment, beneath his palm lay his heart, tucked away in the amulet he had given Briar. Gone was the sunshine day, in its place was...a room? The walls were covered in smooth white stone, and odd stone fixtures filled the room. Water poured from a metal spout nearby. Castiel caught his breath, returning his gaze to Briar’s chest, slowly looking up to find  _ Briar _ .

He stared at Castiel, green eyes cold. Even when they barely knew each other, even when Briar was frightened and suspicious, he had never looked at Castiel with such lack of feeling.

“Briar?” Castiel whispered, unsure how he’d managed to manifest at Briar’s side when the human wasn’t in sleep. Sleep created a liminal space, allowing safer travel to and from the fae realm. To simply  _ appear _ somewhere, in waking moments, was...well, Castiel had never heard of it.

Briar’s shock, however, quickly turned to anger. “Get the  _ hell _ away from me, Castiel,” he growled. 

“Briar,” Castiel whispered, “ _ Please _ …”

“Please?” Briar barked a laugh, “You kept my brother from being saved. My  _ only _ job in life and you’ve spent every waking moment trying to undermine me.”

“That’s not true!” Castiel cried, an ache blooming in his chest at the thought of Briar believing Castiel only sought to cause him pain. “I  _ love _ you.”

“Shit choice on your part,” Briar snapped.

“Briar…”

“No, you know what? Listen to me. I know you’re after what you gave me. Got some buyer’s remorse there, don’t you, fae? Well, I’m using it. Got big plans with this power. And if you get in my way again…” Briar pushed Castiel away, miming his blast, “I  _ will _ end you.”

Castiel reached for his heart, reached for a connection with Briar, but the human pushed him away and Castiel found himself fading back into his own realm. He opened his eyes, but before he could orient himself, he found Sam standing over him, squinting down at Castiel.

“Do fae meditate?” Sam asked abruptly, “You’ve been like that for a while.”

Castiel knew he ought to feel more pain. The thought of Briar threatening him was, after all, heartbreaking. But to his surprise, hope broke through the clouds of sorrow like a ray of sunshine. Against all odds, he still had a connection to Briar. His heart was still beating, he was still going to see another day. And seeing Sam, his young face so much more open and vulnerable than it had been while Sam was corrupted, only increased that hope. Castiel had done the impossible. He’d managed to save Sam.

“I think I’ve discovered a connection with your brother,” Castiel explained with a small smile, “I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner. He wears my heart on his chest and while my heart belongs to him...it’s still a part of me, if that makes sense.”

“Can you save him?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel admitted, “Though I have hope.”

Sam nodded. “You’ve got one more thing.”

“What?”

“Me.”

Castiel blinked. “You and your brother are very similar, then.”

“No, not really,” Sam shook his head, “He was always trying to help me, ever since I was a kid. I think…” he sighed, “I think it’s about time I repaid the favor.”

As Castiel considered the best way to reply–he didn’t want to invalidate the human the way he’d apparently invalidated Briar when he insisted Briar stay safe–a noise from the stream caught Castiel’s attention. The water lifted into the air, slowly coming together to form the body of a fae: Hannah.

“Castiel,” her voice was brisk and stern, “Rumors are flying everywhere and while I do not want to engage in speculation, I can no longer ignore it. What did you do to your human?”

Well, so much for the other fae not getting involved.


	23. Plans

_ “Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled / And paced upon the mountains overhead / And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.” --W.B. Yeats _

 

_ ~Castiel~ _

 

To say Hannah was unhappy was an understatement. Of course, to the untrained eye, Hannah seemed fine, but Cas knew she hid her displeasure well. There was a reason Hannah was second in command in the Resistance. Her self-control made her an excellent foil to Castiel, but Castiel had been around Hannah long enough to know when she was furious.

And this time made all her other outbursts pale in comparison.

“Why, Castiel, must you constantly upend the balance we have been striving to maintain?” Hannah snapped. She’d had a similar retort when Castiel demanded they unmask Lucifer, though less passionate. Hannah had, perhaps rightly so, believed it ineffective to alert the Order of Lucifer’s actions with so little proof. Hannah was the caution to Castiel’s preponderance towards righteous risk taking.

“What has been upended?” Castiel asked cautiously.

“Your human is hunting down yellow-eyed children!” Hannah snapped, “Do you know how long we have had them under surveillance? Sooner or later, they’re bound to lead us to Lucifer.”

Castiel relaxed. Thank goodness, this was just a misunderstanding. “He wasn’t hunting the yellow-eyed children, he was trying to purge his brother of Lucifer’s corruption.”

“What?”

“We had to save him,” Castiel gestured towards Sam, who waved nervously at Hannah’s watery form. All in all, Sam seemed to be taking the whole experience of being in the fae realm with much more calm than Briar. Then again, there were other factors at play when Briar was around. Namely that Castiel was falling for him.

“Yes,” Castiel continued, “I have made some waves, but ultimately, Briar’s actions are an issue that affects me and me alone.”

Hannah crossed her arms. “Ignoring the inane idea that you truly believe you and your realm dying would have  _ no _ effect on your friends or the fae realm in general, you do realize your human has gone further than searching for his kin, right?”

“Enlighten me.”

“Your human is  _ hunting other yellow-eyed children _ ,” Hannah exclaimed, “Four had congregated in the ghost town. One is, apparently, here,” she gestured to Sam, “And utterly useless to our cause–”

“–Hey!” Sam exclaimed.

Hannah turned to face Sam, lips pursed. “Without the corruption in your veins, could you lead us to Lucifer?”

Sam balked, taking a step back. “I, uh, I don’t know who that is.”

With a sigh, Hannah turned back to Castiel. “While I cannot fault you for saving this human, I  _ can _ grow impatient at your plan of sending a human in to murder one of the three remaining yellow-eyed children.”

“ _ What? _ ” Castiel turned to Sam, worried for the boy’s well-being. “Wesson, perhaps you should leave us for the time being.” Briar going on a murder spree wasn’t exactly promising news.

“You’re talking about my brother,” Sam folded his arms, planting himself defiantly at the edge of the stream, “There’s no way I’m leaving.”

Stubborn as all get out. There was little doubt that this was Briar’s brother, though Castiel resisted the urge to push Sam away anyway. At the urge, Castiel bit his tongue. If he was going to avoid the mistakes he’d made with Briar, he would have to stop patronizing the humans in his charge. 

“Fine. You may stay.” Castiel sighed, nodding at Sam before turning his attention back to the other fae. “Hannah?”

“He killed a young woman,” Hannah said, “The two men have escaped, for now, but we are not sure if there is some force drawing them back to this particular abandoned town. If there is…” she shook her head, “Your human appears to be waiting. What I  _ do not _ understand is why he’s so…” she hesitated, glancing at Sam, “strange.”

“I might have failed the trade,” Castiel admitted, “I hoped Briar would exchange hearts, but–”

“–You failed that trade the moment you put your heart up for bargaining!”

“I don’t see it that way.”

“You always had too much heart, Castiel,” Hannah said sadly. “I want to care for humans by staying away, by not getting involved. But you...you have always had the ability to insert yourself into harm’s way, even if it only saves a single human.” She paused, then added, “What went wrong?”

“I gave him my heart,” Castiel murmured, hanging his head. Hannah nodded. “But he didn’t give me his.”

Hannah inhaled sharply.

“He gave me his ability to love,” Castiel admitted.

“Meaning you just created a superpowered monster.”

“My brother is not a monster!” Sam cried.

Hannah whirled around, her cool facade cracking. “He lacks the one thing that makes you humans worth protecting! And he has damned my dear friend to die, thanks to his selfishness. So forgive me, human, but your brother is, in fact, a monster.”

Sam froze for a moment before slowly taking a step back. “No, that’s not...he wouldn’t…”

Castiel put a hand to Sam’s shoulder. “I do not see it that way. It was a mistake,” he added, giving Hannah a glare, “Born of painful desperation.”

“Regardless of the intention,” Hannah replied, “He spells trouble. The Order–”

“–does not have to get involved.”

“They already are, Castiel. And they would have already killed him had I not appealed on your behalf.”

“Thank you, Hannah,’ Castiel bowed his head slightly.

“Do not thank me yet,” Hannah responded, “Your human might be a nightmare, but I have hope he has the same goals as us.”

“Namely?”

“Killing Lucifer.”

Castiel frowned. It was possible that Briar was after Lucifer. When Briar left for Sam, he seemed to be acting out of duty. If he believed it his duty to protect people, it might lead Briar to take out Lucifer. “How?”

“We believe Lucifer is still weak,” Hannah replied, “His servants were activated, but we have not seen a resurgence in heart sacrifices, like before. I believe if your human can find Lucifer, it would not be too hard to kill him.”

“If he can find him.”

“You know a human has a better chance of entering Lucifer’s realm than we do, Castiel.”

“We would be sending him to his death!”

Sam cleared his throat. “You might not. My brother is a skilled hunter. Equipped with Castiel’s heart, he might be able to take down that, uh, bad guy.”

“Sam, you don't know what you're talking about,” Castiel chided, “We fae couldn't completely destroy Lucifer. Even with my heart–”

“–he can do it,” Sam repeated confidently. He paused, adding, “I think he needs to do this. He hurt me, he hurt you,” Sam shot Castiel a baleful glance, “And now he’s killing…” Sam paused, “If he can at least say he killed this big bad, then it might help. When we fix him.”

“Fix him?” Hannah raised a brow, “Castiel…”

“What is the Order’s decision?” Castiel interrupted. He knew the odds of bringing Briar back from the brink were tenuous, to say the least, but that was a conversation he preferred to have alone with Briar’s brother. “What are their plans?”

“Let him try to kill Lucifer,” Hannah said slowly, “And then end him.”

“Hannah.”

“I know, Castiel,” Hannah fidgeted, “But what will you do when your human kills Lucifer? What if your heart is still strong?”

“How long do we have to form a plan?” Castiel asked.

“Sooner rather than later.”

Castiel glanced at Sam. The rays of sunset gleamed in Sam’s hair as he watched Castiel with worry. Castiel sighed. “We can get back to you at nightfall.”

“Not a moment later,” Hannah replied. She waved a hand, and the water lost her form, crashing back into the stream with a sudden splash.

Sam stared at the stream curiously, grabbing a stick to poke at the water where Hannah had been. “Do you have a plan?”

“Die.”

“ _ What? _ ”

Castiel sighed, squatting down to run his finger through the cool water. He’d always felt lucky to be given a realm like this. It was quiet enough that he didn’t have to deal with many unwanted visitors, but streams were a sign of progress, of motion. They moved forwards, slowly and surely they could change entire landscapes. The streams in his forest were lovely.

“If I die, my power dies too. Your brother would only be as dangerous as his natural hunting abilities then. So...I distract him. I leave my realm. Your brother kills me, rendering himself powerless in the process and in the distraction, you return his ability to love.”

“So you’re proposing we kill my brother,” Sam responded, stick poised above the water.

“Not kill him!” Castiel cried. He lost his balance, tilting forward into the stream. “Your brother would be safe. My death would simply strip him of his supernatural powers and with your help, he’d have his family back–”

“–I didn’t just feel my brother’s love for me in that stone, y’know,” Sam retorted. 

“Wesson…”

“No, don’t. I don’t know you, not really, but I got a glimpse of what my brother feels about you,” Sam shook his head, “If he regains the ability to love after killing you, I’m not sure what will happen.”

“He’ll have you.”

“And he won’t have you!” Sam replied. “Give me the stone.”

“What?”

“Just give it.”

Hesitantly, Castiel pulled Briar’s ability to love from his pouch, handing it to Sam, who immediately thrust it into Castiel’s face. “Look at this,” he said, gesturing to the center. Three pale lines intersected each other, forming the star of the garnet. “This is his love, isn’t it? Buried in all the pain. He loves me,” Sam pointed to one line, “And our parents,” he pointed to another, “And that third line...that’s you, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know.”

“I do,” Sam said firmly. “It was enough for me to trust you, even though I don’t know you. If my brother trusts you, I do too.

“Then you will trust my plan–”

Sam laughed, helping Castiel out of the stream. As their hands parted, Castiel found Briar’s garnet in his hand. He held it tight. 

“You think my brother would trust that plan?” Sam said with a small smile, “If you did, you’d be out of your damn mind. We’re all getting out of this alive.”

“You are young,” Castiel retorted, “You do not understand that not everything ends well.”

“I’m a hunter. I lost my mom and dad,” Sam tossed his stick into the stream, “And now my brother’s at risk of dying too. So I’d say I understand pretty damn well what it means to have shitty odds.”

Castiel sighed. “You and your brother have that in common, then.”

“What?”

“Insufferable amounts of stubborness.”

Sam threw back his head and laughed, the sound echoing through the forest. It was a joyous sound, though Castiel couldn’t find it in himself to join in. Eventually, the happiness subsided, the smile slowly vanishing from Sam’s face as he said softly, “I don’t want to lose him.”

“I don’t either.” The thought of having unintentionally sent Briar to his death was enough for Castiel to wish his heart would stop right then and there. Once again, Castiel cursed himself for being a fool. Why would he have thought Briar would want to give Castiel his heart? All their conversations beforehand, why hadn’t Castiel seen how much Briar was hurting and desperate for reprieve? 

Sam’s hand on his shoulder pulled Castiel from his worries. “Then we find another way.”

“How?”

“What were you doing, when you were meditating?” Sam asked, “Because you kept saying  _ Briar _ . That’s my brother’s name, isn’t it?”

The memory of Castiel’s lips on Briar’s resurfaced, followed by the expression of hatred that clouded Briar’s eyes as he realized what was happening. “We...connected,” Castiel admitted, “Through my heart, I think.”

“So that’s how we get him,” Sam replied. 

“What?”

“You use your heart to distract him,” Sam said, excitement brimming, “And I save him. Then I take your heart and, uh, do I bring it back here? What would fix it?”

Castiel paused thoughtfully. The plan was dangerous, but it had the potential to work. “I am unsure what exactly would help my heart, but I imagine returning it to the realm would at least put it back in touch with the symbiotic relationship I have with my realm.”

“Saving you  _ and _ my brother.”

“By putting you in danger,” Castiel reminded him, “If something goes wrong with my distraction, I will not be there to save you.”

“I’m a world class hunter,” Sam bragged, the words sounding odd in the mouth of someone who had barely ceased to be a child, “If anyone can do it, I can.”

There was so much that could go wrong with the plan. Castiel feared Briar would overcome his distraction too early, or the heart would be so drained that Castiel wouldn’t be able to hold a connection even if he tried. Really, his biggest fears were that Sam or Briar would get hurt. Dying himself? Well, that wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen.

Still, there didn’t seem to be many other options. As much as Castiel was loathe to admit it, Sam was right, the only way they could save Briar was together. He told Hannah as much when she returned, water shimmering under the moonlight. 

She smiled sadly, reaching a watery hand to brush Castiel’s cheek. “You always have been so willing to fall.”

“I have already fallen,” Castiel whispered. 

“If it was up to me,” Hannah admitted, “We would save your heart. But…” she sighed, “Your heart is truly elsewhere. I will respect your decision. The Order will withhold action until it is clear your plan has either succeeded or failed. But if it fails, Castiel–”

“–I know,” Castiel didn’t want to hear the words aloud. Speaking things gave them power. He turned to leave, walking away from her touch, when Hannah spoke again.

“Castiel,” she said, catching his eye, “Do not fail.”

She waved a hand before Castiel could respond, her form once again returning to the stream bed. Castiel gazed at the stream, alight from moon and star. The world glowed at night, light appearing even in the darkest of hours. Castiel held on to Hannah’s hope as he wandered into the forest. He used a portion of his waning power to weave a nest of vines, not unlike beds he’d made for Briar, so Sam could sleep. 

The man was so young, lost without his family, though trying so desperately to be brave. He deserved better than what Castiel could offer him. When Castiel found Sam, he was already asleep, leaned awkwardly against the trunk of a tree. Castiel picked him up, amazed that he could actually feel the weight. With full power, carrying someone as big as Sam would still be child’s play. 

Castiel ignored the twinging aches, instead carrying Sam to the nest. He would rest better there, nestled in the odd sort of bedding that a forest could provide. Briar had always slept peacefully, at least. As he watched Sam sleep, Castiel hefted the small pouch of Briar’s trades. He mourned losing the stone that had come from Briar’s kiss so long ago, but it had fallen away with his crown in the forest. In all the chaos, there had been no time to save it and Castiel knew he wouldn’t be able to find it again. It was a disappointment, but Castiel far preferred having Sam alive and unhurt than a small memento of Briar.

Still, the jade aside, much of what Briar had given Castiel had been pain. His sorrows, his anxieties. Castiel was acutely aware that if they followed the plan, it would involve returning these very afflictions to Briar. If you loved someone, could you knowingly put them through pain? If Castiel instigated a plan that involved giving Briar back his pain...would Briar even want to see Castiel again after that? 

By saving Briar, could Castiel lose the man he loved?


	24. Loved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final stretch, y'all!

_ “Considering that, all hatred driven hence, / The soul recovers radical innocence” --W.B. Yeats _

 

_ ~Castiel~ _

 

One of the hardest parts of any battle was the waiting. Castiel knew this firsthand. Though it had been many millennia since he had last fought, the wars fae used to wage had been brutal. More recently, Castiel’s wait on the eve of battle came in the metaphorical sense, when he had tried to stop Lucifer the first time. 

Humans, at least, could sleep. There was no guarantee they could sleep well before a fight, of course, but it was still possible. They still had the option to forget, even momentarily, the horror that awaited them in the morning. Castiel found himself jealous of Sam, whose rest seemed peaceful and undisturbed throughout the night. 

Castiel, on the other hand, was filled with thoughts of Briar.

It seemed that Castiel was destined to fall for Briar the moment the human entered his life. Briar, who was so open with his emotions, even when he was suspicious and trying to hide them, they seemed to ebb and flow in the open air. Castiel had always loved that about Briar, the way he carried emotions like an aura around him. Whether Briar wanted to admit it, he felt things so strongly that at times, Castiel could feel them too.

For centuries, Castiel had existed alone in his realm. Taking a human companion, he knew, was wrong. It meant stealing them from their homes, their families, their lives. He had never wanted to exploit humans. But even when new ways of companionship arose, when fae like Gilda experimented with more humane connections, Castiel still couldn’t bring himself to come close. Humans were complicated, they were emotional, they didn’t make sense. Castiel had never wanted the chaos. He had cared for humanity as a whole, of course, but just because humans didn’t deserve to die, that didn’t mean they had to live with Castiel either.

Briar was all the worst parts of humanity, he was impulsive and complex and oh,  _ so confusing _ . But he was the best of humanity too. Kindness and laughter and soft kisses.

Trying to maintain distance from Briar had always been a constant struggle for Castiel. It was for Briar’s own good, of course, Briar wanted to be free to explore the world and Castiel could only offer so much freedom. If loving Briar meant setting him free, so be it. Self-sacrifice came as easily to Castiel as it did to Briar, apparently. But it was different for himself, Castiel reasoned. He was an immortal being, he had earned the right to self-sacrifice.

Yet no amount of self-sacrificing would fully save Briar now. He needed his ability to love, it was a crucial part of his being, and yet, Castiel knew just how badly it would hurt him. Castiel had considered trying to extract the good parts of Briar’s love from the bad, but he soon found it impossible. The darkness was just as much a part of love as the light. If Briar felt joy, he would inevitably feel pain. 

Castiel rubbed his eyes as he stared into Briar’s star garnet. He had not dared to look at Briar’s ability to love  _ him _ . He didn’t know what would be worse: discovering Briar barely cared for him, or learning Briar cared deeply for him, but gave up their love anyway. Castiel closed his eyes, running his thumb along the gem, tapping vaguely into Briar’s complicated emotions.

_ Briar opened his eyes, finding himself in a forest. As he caught sight of Castiel, his heart sang with joy _ .

This was not for Castiel. He dropped the stone onto the forest floor with a cry. It had been a bad idea, trying to sneak into Briar’s feelings. Besides, no matter how sweet the feelings were now, they would certainly sour when Castiel hurt him. Briar might be angry at Sam, but Sam would tell him it was Castiel’s idea. As Sam should, he deserved to maintain his familial relationship with his brother. Castiel, on the other hand, had made too many mistakes. He had gotten their father killed, accidentally allowed Briar to lose a crucial part of himself and barely managed to save Sam. 

Whatever feelings Briar had towards Castiel, they were doomed to disappear.

Unable to think of Briar any longer, Castiel stooped, gently scooping Briar’s star garnet into his pouch. Then he was off, trying to ration his dwindling magic as he prepared protective enchantments for Sam. They would have to make a deal to exchange them, fae couldn’t give anything away without a price, but at least Castiel could ensure he did not ask much of Sam. Castiel couldn’t ask for anything too big anyway. No, Sam would give Castiel some memory from his infanthood and Castiel would ensure he was at least moderately defended.

Castiel wove a thin bracelet from reeds he gathered along several streams, imbuing the bracelet with power to soften at least a few blows Briar might send his way. Several enchanted leaves, retrieved from a multitude of forests, would give Sam a swift, quiet gait when placed in his shoes. Finally, Castiel painted a few sigils onto a thin, flat river rock with crushed berry juice, blowing to dry them. This would allow Sam to return to Castiel’s realm. Ideally, this would be with Briar in tow, but if Sam needed to escape, so be it. 

Castiel would not let Briar kill his brother.

Unfortunately, the small trinkets were all he could afford to craft for Sam. No weapons, Castiel realized after the fact, though he didn’t know how effective those would have been. If Sam was anything like Castiel, he would likely falter when it came to using weapons on his brother anyway. With his enchantments crafted and the sun rising, Castiel returned to the nest he’d built for Sam.

Sam’s hair was rumpled and he had a distinct pattern of vines on his cheek, but he was awake, blinking in the sunlight with a yawn. It was hard to discern how much Sam understood as Castiel explained not just the magical defenses, but the trade Sam would have to initiate in order to receive them.

“It’s the only way fae magic works,” Castiel explained, “I will take a memory from your childhood, one you do not enjoy, even–”

“–no, I have one in mind,” Sam replied, rubbing his eyes. “You don’t deserve some crappy night alone in a motel for all this.”

Sam’s statement made absolutely no sense to Castiel, but he brushed it aside, reaching a hand out to clasp Sam’s shoulder. Action felt good. Having something to do, rather than wait on the eve of battle, had been a smart decision, even if it had weakened him. “Focus on the memory you would like to give,” Castiel said and Sam closed his eyes.

Receiving memories was always a magical experience. To see something new, as if through his own eyes, was always earth shattering. Seeing the colors that infants saw, the vague shapes they could not yet recognize, for instance, was just one of the many things that had endeared Castiel to humans to begin with. And if the memories they wouldn’t miss were that lovely, Castiel had always wondered about the ones they treasured.

To his surprise, it wasn’t an infant memory that Sam sent him. It wasn’t a sad one, either, not like the memory Briar had given Castiel, one with his cruel father. No, it was Sam as a child. He was much younger, much closer to the ground, and he held his scraped knee, crying over the pain. Another person arrived, their scuffed shoes dirty from grass stains and mud. Castiel looked up to see... _ oh _ .

It was Briar, a much younger Briar, several of his teeth missing as it seemed to happen with human children. Briar’s face was free of many of the sorrows he now carried. Free from many, but not all. Even at a young age, Briar had much to bear. Briar frowned as he glanced at Sam, then bent down pulled Sam in a tight hug. Even though Castiel knew it was a hug between brothers, he still relished the kindness, the love that Briar possessed, even as a young child.

Castiel had asked for so little, and yet Sam had given Castiel a  _ treasure _ .

“Thank you,” Castiel whispered, unable to meet Sam’s eyes, “For giving me a glimpse of Briar’s childhood kindness.”

“Is that what I gave?” Sam asked with a laugh, “There’s so many times he’s been there for me that it’s hard to keep track.”

“He is good, isn’t he?”

Sam smiled, catching Castiel’s eye. “Yeah. That’s why we’re gonna save him.”

“Yes,” Castiel nodded, “That is.”

He wondered, briefly, if they would know when to go after Briar, when a shot of pain burst through Castiel’s chest. Briar was using magic. A  _ lot _ of magic. With a cry, Castiel collapsed. Sam rushed to his side, trying to help him up.

“What’s happening?” Sam asked, nearly dropping Castiel as the fae convulsed in pain. 

_ No _ . Briar was burning through too much too quickly. Castiel needed a small amount to send Sam to his side, and a heartbeat more to appear as Briar’s distraction. Not to mention, if Briar burned through Castiel’s whole heart, Castiel would die completely. With a silent apology, Castiel stumbled towards a tree, pressing his fingertips to the trunk and bleeding it dry.

This was not what he wanted to do. Castiel was a  _ steward _ of his realm, protecting the trees and creatures of this area was his sacred duty. Still, it was one tree...or the entirety of the realm. “He’s fighting Lucifer,” Castiel replied with a groan. If he closed his eyes and focused, he could even sense the darkness around his heart. It was the closest he had been to Lucifer’s presence since trying to unmask him in front of The Order, all that time ago.

“Is he okay?” 

Another rattling convulsion of pain. Another tree, sucked dry. Castiel had never hated himself more than he did in this instance, his own foolishness had caused these mistakes. He tried to think of it as a good thing. If Briar defeated Lucifer, there might not be anything to worry about. No more corrupted children, no more stolen hearts. 

If Briar could do it. 

“ _ Is he okay? _ ” Panic tinged Sam’s voice now and Castiel felt a pang of sorrow. Sam had only just discovered he’d lost his father. He didn’t deserve to lose a brother too, not so soon. 

“He’s...fighting,” Castiel replied through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the pain and exhaustion that was threatening to overwhelm him. They only had a small window with which to act after Lucifer’s defeat. If Lucifer was defeated. 

Another wave of pain, another life stolen from his forest. 

The darkness crescendoed, smothering Castiel’s vision, catching in his throat. He could barely breathe, couldn’t see, pain crashing down on all sides. In a panic, Castiel wondered if this was what Briar was feeling, surrounded by Lucifer’s unyielding evil. Castiel’s heart screamed. He was too far away, he couldn’t help. No matter how many forests Castiel sucked dry, it would not be enough. All he could do was cry out for Briar, beg him to be strong. 

Something snapped inside of Castiel. He had no idea if it was physical or not, time and space were starting to slip away as he begged Briar to keep fighting. Without warning, silence fell. The pain abated, the darkness trickled away and Castiel found himself, once again, on the forest floor, Sam’s worried face hovering over him.

Castiel closed his eyes again, trying to sense through his heart, but he couldn’t locate Lucifer anywhere. He was gone. Utterly and entirely evaporated. Castiel reopened his eyes, tears leaking down to the soil below. “Briar did it,” he whispered.

Sam let out a loud whoop, then froze abruptly, fist lowering slowly. “That means we have to go after him.”

Right. The plan part of their plan. Castiel had not expected to be so drained–the very thought of moving seemed to tire him–but time was of the essence. Castiel nodded, beckoning weakly for Sam to come to his side.

“Can you do this? Sam asked worriedly.

“I am going to give it my all,” Castiel replied, unlacing the pouch from his robe and setting it in Sam’s hand. He closed Sam’s fingers over the pouch. “These are Briar’s. You must return them to him.”

Sam nodded resolutely. “I’m ready.”

“I’m sorry you have to be,” Castiel whispered.

“I’ll bring him back,” Sam said, mustering a smile, “No worries.”

Castiel couldn’t bring himself to smile back. Instead, he focused his energy as he lifted his hand, reaching up to place his fingertips on Sam’s forehead. He didn’t know Briar’s exact location, but he knew where his heart was. He gave Sam one last nod, then sent him away.

With Sam en route to his brother’s physical location, it left Castiel to muster up the last of his strength. He had one final visit with Briar to make before his heart gave out completely. Castiel closed his eyes, focused on his weak heartbeat, and travelled. 

They were in a small, abandoned town. At least, Castiel surmised that’s what it used to be, now everything, aside from a large bell, were rubble. One building’s charred remains still had a trickle of smoke curling up from its base. Briar was on his knees, exhausted. Castiel could feel his heart beating weakly against Briar’s chest. It wasn’t nearly as powerful as before, but there was still enough energy for Briar to cause trouble.

“Briar,” Castiel whispered, and Briar lifted his chin with a scowl.

“I just saved all your asses,” Briar growled, “And you’re still trying this shit?”

Castiel froze. He was weak, tired, and sad. And yet, he couldn’t help but look at Briar with every ounce of love that he could muster. It was the sort of love took a toll on Castiel. Not to mention, he had been so caught up in preparing Sam for the worst case scenario, he hadn’t stopped to consider what he would say to Briar. What  _ could _ he say, to distract this man for as long as it would take for Sam to return his love and retrieve Castiel’s heart.

“I am doing this because I love you,” Castiel began, though the words were awkward and halting.

Briar barked a laugh. “Spare me the bullshit. You and your fae stuff, it makes things messy. You tried to steal my name, you already stole my brother...you’re selfish, Castiel. Why can’t you just leave me be?”

_ Selfish. _ Yes, Castiel was selfish. “Would you like that?” 

“Would I like that?” Briar pushed to standing, “What the fuck did you think I just said? I. Want. You. Gone.”

Castiel took a shuddering breath. Holding himself together was hard enough without hearing his worst nightmares voiced aloud. The world flickered for a moment, but Castiel held tightly to his connection to his heart. He was not going to lose Briar. 

“Do you know why you want me gone?” Castiel asked, faking a bravery that didn’t seem to exist. He thought of the trees, the creatures, the life that intertwined his realm. But mostly, he thought of Briar. Not this one, not the broken man, the full and wonderful Briar who was full of love and light. “Because I remind you of love.”

“No.”

“Your father was cruel,” Castiel continued, “He never loved you fully.”

“Stop it.”

“If your brother was here, you could forget your love and focus on your duty,” Castiel said softly.

“Shut up!” Dean snarled, trying to wave a hand through Castiel’s manifested form, but Castiel clung to his heart and would not allow himself to disappear.

“But you  _ loved  _ me, Briar,” Castiel cried, voice breaking at last. He had tried to ignore the love in Briar’s stone, but it, like the rest of Briar, was so strong, so complicated and lovely and messy that Castiel couldn’t truly look away. “You loved me and I love you.”

“ _ Loved _ ,” Briar spat, “Past tense, Castiel.”

“I loved you,” Castiel replied, “Past tense.”

“I love you.” He took a step closer, though his legs felt as though they could give out at any moment. “Present tense.” 

Castiel took another step, reaching out to press a hand to Briar’s chest. He wasn’t sure if it was touching Briar or his own heart that strengthened him. Maybe both. He looked up into Briar’s eyes. 

“I will always love you,” Castiel whispered, “Future tense.”

For a moment, Briar froze. Castiel reached up, pressing his ghostly fingers to Briar’s cheek. They were so close now, Castiel ached to press his face into the crook of Briar’s neck and hug him tight. Briar’s lower lip quivered as he opened his mouth. A flash of vulnerability crossed Briar’s eyes, he looked so confused and scared that Castiel wanted nothing more to comfort him, when–

Briar whipped around and Castiel realized, to his horror, that Sam was right behind him.

“You were trying to  _ trick _ me?” Briar cried, stepping away from Castiel. “I  _ knew _ it!” 

Sam took a step closer, but Briar held out his hand, energy pulsating at his fingertips. “You even turned my brother against me!”

“We just want to help you,” Sam said, taking another foolish step towards Briar. 

There was a rush of energy and Sam was hit point blank. Thankfully, it only caused him to stumble backwards a few steps, though Castiel could see the woven bracelet fall from Sam’s wrist. Castiel had misjudged the power of his enchantment. Sam couldn’t survive another hit. 

“ _ Please _ ,” Sam begged.

For a moment, nobody moved. Castiel felt lightheaded, he was unsure how much longer he could keep manifesting himself, especially with Briar draining his heart power, but he couldn’t leave Sam here alone. Not now. A small breeze drifted through the town, causing the bell to ring ever so slightly…

Everything happened at once. Sam ducked into a sprint, one final ditch effort to save his brother. Briar charged a pulse, one Castiel feared Sam would not survive. Acting on instinct, Castiel reached for his heart and  _ pulled _ . His heart, encased on Briar’s chest, responded, causing Briar to turn towards Castiel.

The pulse left Briar’s fingertips.

Sam pressed the star garnet to the small of Briar’s back.

Briar’s eyes widened, a strangled cry leaving his lips as he reached for Castiel–

His blast hit Castiel first.

Castiel smiled as the pulse hit–they had saved Briar, nothing else mattered–there was a blur of pain, then sorrow, then nothing at all. 


	25. Dean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major thanks to wanderingcas for getting me started on this project, for the ever patient soluscheese and my eternal cheerleaders, thursdays-fallen-angel and [xpuppydogeyes](https://xpuppydogeyes.tumblr.com)
> 
> Y'all are some of the best friends a person could ask for! This work wouldn't be finished without your help and support.

_“Hearts are not had as a gift, but hearts are earned / By those that are not entirely beautiful.” --W.B. Yeats_

 

Everything hurt.

Dean didn’t even know what was the worst of it. Was it the ache of losing his father? The knowledge he’d almost hurt Sam? Or the fact he very well might have murdered Castiel in cold blood.

It was hard to tell whether or not Castiel had survived. The fae had vanished with the pulse Dean had sent, as had the steady heartbeat within the amulet around Dean’s neck. Every so often, the amulet seemed to hum slightly with energy, but the sensations were growing few and far between. That couldn’t be a good sign.

To add insult to injury, with Dean stunned and grief-stricken, Sam had to call all the shots. Not that Dean was mad at Sam for doing as much. He was relieved Sam was alive (cured, no less!) and glad there was someone who knew what they were doing. Especially because Dean felt a bit like a dead man walking. He wasn’t sure how he could do anything when his heart practically threatened to pull him down to the center of the Earth.

He might have murdered the love of his life.

A tear trickled down one cheek as Dean tried to hold back the absolute pain that came with a statement like that. He didn’t know what was the worst part of that situation, that Castiel died by Dean’s hand, or that he died before Dean could give him his name.

 _Name? I’d give him everything_ , Dean thought to himself, wrapping his fingers around Castiel’s heart and holding on tight. Not that it would help, Dean had no clue what to do in a situation with a nearly murdered fae, but it couldn’t hurt to try.

“We gotta go,” Sam said, tugging another stone from his pocket. He slung an arm around Dean’s shoulder–not that Dean deserved that touch–and gave his brother a sort of half hug as he threw the stone to the ground. The air hummed around them for a moment and before Dean could even blink, the ghost town vanished, replaced with a feeling that Dean could only attribute to Castiel’s realm.

Immediately, the emptiness of the town was contrasted with an expanse of forest. Pines filled Dean’s vision. He had been in this forest before, where the trees were so close to each other it felt almost claustrophobic, like the trees themselves made it hard to breathe. Then again, that could just be the panic filling Dean’s chest at the thought that Castiel, if he was still alive, could be _anywhere_.

“ _Castiel_ ,” Dean shouted, racing blindly into the forest, “ _Castiel!”_

His voice echoed through the trees, but there was no response. Panic bloomed in Dean’s chest. Could he live with himself for killing Castiel? Dean was already kicking himself for trading away his ability to love. How hadn’t he picked up on Castiel’s meaning sooner? No wonder the fae had been hesitant, he thought Dean was giving up his heart in return. But Dean was selfish, he was weak, he did the one damned thing that could have hurt Castiel so badly.

“ _Castiel!”_ he cried, his voice tearing in his throat.

“Briar!” a voice called back, and Dean’s heart leapt for a moment before his mind caught up. The voice wasn’t Castiel’s. He turned, catching sight of Sam racing after him. Dean was so surprised that he ran into a tree. Pain blossomed in Dean’s forehead and he was almost grateful for it. He deserved it.

“Sorry,” Sam said, his breathing heavy, “I know he doesn’t know your real name, so I, uh...sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Dean whispered, though warmth bloomed in his chest. There was something about Sam’s tone, his general demeanor, that was so different than when he was corrupted by Lucifer. Sam was, well and truly, just his brother again. No more darkness. Dean resisted the urge to hug him. Hugs could come later, after they found Cas.

“I dunno what to do, Sammy,” Dean admitted, hanging his head. He was the older brother, he should have answers, but he didn’t. “I don’t know how to find him.”

Sam tilted his head, running a hand through his hair as he looked around for potential answers. His eyes widened and he pointed to Dean’s chest. “What about the amulet? Isn’t that–”

“–Castiel’s heart!” Dean finished, “Do you think he’s connected?”

“I know he is,” Sam said, “That’s how he could contact you at all.”

“So...how do we find him with it?”

Sam shrugged. “You’re the one with the profound bond with him.”

Hesitantly, Dean raised the amulet to his lips. “Castiel?” he whispered, glancing around the forest. Nothing. No sign of him. But to Dean’s astonishment, the heart pulsed beneath his fingertips.

“Castiel?” Dean asked again. Nothing. Dean turned slowly, looking around the forest once again when it hummed within his grip.

“This way,” Dean pointed in the direction he was facing. “I think he’s this way.”

Sam nodded, following Dean as he began to wander. Once in a while, the pulses would stop. Dean quickly learned that was a sign that they had to alter their course, but it didn’t change the fact that every time Dean could no longer feel Castiel, it felt as though his own heart was about to stop working.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Sam kept whispering as they wandered the formidable forest, “It’s gonna be okay.”

Dean sniffed, trying to keep the sorrow that was lodged in his throat from spilling over. “Since when did you become the one comforting me?”

“Oh, c’mon,” Sam grinned, “I already beat you in hunting. You had to know it was only a matter of time before I surpassed your big brother abilities.”

Dean choked on a laugh. “Jerk.”

“Bitch,” Sam smiled wider and for a moment, the world was all okay. His brother was cured, their father no longer a threat that dangled over their heads...they were well and truly free. But reality crashed down on Dean as the amulet pulsed in Dean’s grasp again. A stupidly gentle reminder that Castiel was hurt and Dean couldn’t find him.

As though he could read Dean’s thoughts, Sam clapped a hand to Dean’s shoulder. Dean’s smile slid off his face. “We’ll find him,” Sam said.

“We have to,” Dean murmured, picking up pace. Though the pulses kept coming, they seemed to be growing weaker by the minute. And there the other problem, the fact neither Dean nor Sam knew how exactly to save Castiel and the fae might very well be unconscious when they found him.

Their fast walk turned into a run, Dean weaving between towering pines and aspen while Sam matched pace. Every so often, Dean would shout a pained cry of _Castiel_ into the forest, though there was never any answer. As they ran, Dean realized, to his horror, the trees were dead. They still stood, but their trunks were blackened, their needles gone. Dean and Sam darted around one tree, the pulses growing closer and closer together, and Dean caught sight of something that nearly made him collapse.

Castiel lay face down in a stream, surrounded by a ring of dead trees.

Sam ran past Dean, single handedly tugging the fae from the stream as Dean could only watch numbly. Emotions swarmed through Dean as though he’d burst a hive of bees. Fear, guilt, sorrow.

And love.

Love.

 _Love_.

Dean did not know what nudged him to race to Castiel’s side, but before he knew it, he was on his knees, Castiel’s head in his lap. He brushed the wet strands of hair out of Castiel’s face. The fae was barely breathing, his chest ever so slightly bobbing up and down. “Castiel,” Dean whispered, “You have to wake up.”

No response.

“Please,” Dean brushed his fingertips along Castiel’s face, pressing a hand to Castiel’s chest in a half-hearted attempt at CPR. Could someone even do CPR on a fae? Would it even work? “ _Please_ ,” Dean whimpered. “You need to help us save you.”

But the fae did not wake up.

Dean turned to Sam, wildly unsure of what to do. “What are we supposed to do?”

“Can you give him back his heart?” Sam asked.

“I–I dunno,” Dean tugged the amulet off his neck, carefully sliding it onto Castiel. The amulet still hummed under his fingers, but there seemed to be no improvement to the fae. “I give you back your heart,” Dean said awkwardly, waiting for some magic to fill his chest or swirl in the air. Instead, nothing happened. Castiel remained still.

“I don’t think it’s working, Sam!”

“I…” Sam stared, panic setting into his eyes. He shook his head, trying to clear it. “I’ll try CPR.”

Dean carefully set Castiel’s head down, retrieving the amulet. It felt better close to Dean, so he held it in both hands, watching helplessly as Sam pumped the fae’s chest. Nothing. A minute passed, or maybe an hour, or maybe it was simply a few seconds but there were no changes in Castiel’s condition.

Eventually, Sam stopped. “I don’t think it’s helping.”

“No.”

“I don’t think it’s going to help.”

“I know,” Dean murmured, his head filling with fog as he sat down next to Castiel. Here he was, close to the fae, and nothing he could do would help. He would have to watch the fae die, hold Castiel close knowing that the last thing the fae would ever remember was Dean trying to kill him.

The pain that filled Dean’s chest was so sharp it felt as though his very heart was being ripped out.

Wait. His _heart_ . That was what Castiel had intended for him to trade, wasn’t it? That was what Gilda and Charlie had traded and the two _sustained each other_. “I have an idea,” Dean said, reaching into his pocket. He almost laughed. Somewhere, in all the insanity and confusion, Dean had forgotten that he still carried his beloved Impala key, a literal reminder of home and family, with him.

What better place to store his heart?

Sam squinted down at the keys. “What do you think you’re going to do?”

“What I have to,” Dean wondered what it would mean for his brother. Was it abandoning Sam to save Castiel? But to his surprise, Sam threw his arms around Dean, pulling him in tight.

“I, uh...” Sam started, but couldn’t seem to bring himself to finish, instead pressing his chin onto Dean’s shoulder.

“Me too,” Dean mumbled, giving Sam one final squeeze before letting go.

Dean took one of Castiel’s hands in his hand, holding the car keys in the other. He closed his eyes, the way he’d practiced with Castiel in the past, and envisioned sending his heart, his whole heart, to the fae. His heart rose in his chest like an eagle in flight...and then it was gone, humming within the car keys.

For a moment, the emptiness threatened to swallow Dean whole. Without his heart, his world seemed empty, but unlike losing his love, Dean was acutely, painfully aware of the hollowness. How had Castiel survived without his heart for so long? As it felt like he was slipping away entirely, Castiel’s heart hummed against Dean’s chest, providing him with a lifeline. A safe harbor. This was how it was supposed to be, Dean realized. Castiel’s heart supporting Dean, Dean’s heart supporting Castiel.

Dean placed the car key in Castiel’s hand, curling Castiel’s fingers over the cool metal and gently guiding it to Castiel’s chest. “I give you my heart,” Dean whispered, pressing the faintest of kisses to Castiel’s cold lips. When there was still no response, Dean finally allowed himself to fall apart, laying his head on Castiel’s chest with a sob.

The amulet warmed against Dean’s chest, heartbeat growing in power and regularity.

Castiel coughed.

Dean pulled away, Sam racing to their sides. Castiel coughed again, opening his eyes. When he caught sight of Dean, he smiled so brightly it felt as though the sun had come out and in that moment, Dean understood what made the pains of love worth enduring.

What Dean hadn’t expected, however, was to feel so...well, awkward. After the danger had passed and the adrenaline wore off, the reality of the situation set in. Dean had hurt Sam. Worse, he’d not only double crossed Castiel, but tried to kill him. Whether he loved them or not, Dean wasn’t sure he deserved their love in return.

To make things more uncomfortable, Castiel was still weakened from his time without a heart. Though Dean had saved him, he’d nearly killed him first. The damage was no small thing. And it was entirely Dean’s fault.

With the overall disaster averted, Dean took to avoiding everyone. Sam had, strangely, bonded quickly with Castiel, and the two were as thick as thieves as Sam headed up Castiel’s recovery. Good. They both deserved a friend. Dean made it a point to give the two of them space, staying as far away as he could bear. Although Dean tried to keep his distance, however, he would occasionally creep back to check on them.

On many occasions, Sam called out for Dean to join them, but each time, Castiel looked so stricken that Dean felt he had no choice but to stay away. Dean couldn’t put Castiel through pain, not anymore. He kept Castiel’s heart around his neck, swearing to himself that he would take care of it no matter how much Castiel despised him. Surely the fae despised him, after all.

Eventually, Sam confronted Dean. Dean sat on a log, watching a waterfall tumble from a small cliff-side. He liked the way the noise seemed to obliterate any thought. It wasn’t easy thinking these days. Sam sat down beside him, shattering that fragile protection. “You’re still my brother, you know,” Sam said.

“I tried to kill you,” Dean reminded him. It had been a regular reminder.

Sam sighed. “I’ve let that go. Can’t you?”

“Not really.”

“What about the times I tried to hurt you?” Sam hedged. His voice wobbled as he added, “What about when I killed Dad?”

Castiel had been the one to break the news to Sam. Later, Sam apologized to Dean (not that he needed to, in Dean’s opinion). Still, that morning they’d sat together in a strange sort of sadness, the kind of ache that was complicated by relief.

“Those don’t count,” Dean said wearily, “You were just–”

“–Under another influence,” Sam rolled his eyes, “So you’ve said. But you were too, in a way. You weren’t all there either.”

“Which was my own damn fault.”

“You didn’t know better,” Sam retorted. Dean sighed, they’d had this exact discussion before. It was around this point that he usually gave up, but this time, for some reason, Dean kept talking.

“But I should have!” Dean burst out, “I was selfish, not wanting to live with the pain of losing Dad, of potentially losing you too. I was selfish, Sam and...weak,” he hung his head, “Dad was right.”

To his surprise, Sam wrapped his arms around Dean. “It’s not weakness, y’know,” he said softly, “I don’t want to hurt either. Especially on the days when it almost seems to drown me.”

“What keeps you afloat?”

“You,” Sam shrugged, “Cas, now. And hope for the future.”

Dean tugged away. “The future?”

Sam smiled shyly. “I was thinking about going back to college.”

“Really?” Dean couldn’t help it, he burst into a grin, “That’s awesome!”

“You’ll have to visit often.”

“Visit? Hell, I’ll come live–”

But Sam waved him off with a smile. “You’ll visit,” he said cryptically, adding, “But you better visit a lot!”

And, strangely, that was all it took for the Winchesters to mend their bond.

As much as Dean pestered, however, Sam wouldn’t explain what he meant by _visit_. Instead, Sam returned to begging Dean to spend time with Castiel. Dean refused. He didn’t know how he could face Castiel. Days passed, maybe weeks, and while Castiel grew stronger, Dean still had no clue how he was going to face him.

Nights were easier. Since Dean’s transgression, Sam wasn’t the only one who needed to sleep, and, because Dean refused to join them, Sam and Castiel would sleep near each other. Knowing they were tucked away in some small clearing or something, it gave Dean a bit more freedom to wander. He liked to go on walks, wandering the empty forest as he allowed the ache in his heart to better punish him for his misdeeds.

Tonight it was a warmer forest, thick leaves and vines obscuring much from view. It was wandering one of the narrow pathways that Dean heard his name. His initial urge was to run, but Dean found his curiosity winning out. Instead, he crept closer.

“I know I should not,” Castiel admitted, “But I miss Briar.”

“Cas,” Sam sighed, “We’ve been over this.”

“You’ve said as much,” Castiel tugged on the hem of his robe. “But how can I not blame myself? I am the one who insisted we return his painful emotions and now…” he sighed, “Briar won’t even look me in the eye. He hates me.”

Dean froze. Did he hear that right? Castiel couldn’t possibly think he _hated_ him.

“He doesn’t _hate_ you,” Sam replied slowly, “He gave you his heart.”

“Because it was an emergency.” Castiel cursed, “He always has been too kind. Now he’s only remained in this realm because I hold something very dear to him.”

“I doubt that’s the only reason. He’s just...stubborn,” Sam said, looking past Castiel to the brush where Dean was hiding. His brother locked eyes with Dean. “He’ll talk to you soon, I bet,” he added pointedly, maintaining eye contact with Dean for another moment before looking back to Cas. Sam faked a yawn (bastard!) before making a show of stretching. “I think I’m gonna go to bed.”

“Good night, Wesson,” Castiel said. Dean had been meaning to tease Sam for that nickname, though he knew as soon as he did, Sam would have plenty to say about _Briar_. But really, Briar was different. Dean didn’t pick it, for one, and also...he liked it. It was kind of cute, sue him.

“Night, Cas,” Sam gave a wave as he wandered away, leaving Castiel alone in the darkness.

Almost without meaning to, Dean stumbled into the clearing. Castiel’s eyes widened as he saw him. “Hey, Cas,” Dean said awkwardly, “You...uh...maybe wanna go somewhere?” Somewhere far away from Sam, hopefully. The last thing Dean needed was his brother watching their conversation.

Castiel smiled and waved a hand. They were on the edge of a mountain forest, a stream flowing into a clear lake. The sun was just starting to rise.

“Briar,” Castiel began, right as Dean said, “Castiel.”

They both stopped short. “You, uh, first,” Dean said awkwardly.

Castiel nodded. “I want to apologize. Since you have met me, I have caused you _so much pain_. You are so good, Briar, and I–I ruined so much for you. Now that I am almost fully healed, I feel I have taken advantage of your kindness for far too long.” He held out the Impala key, “It’s about time you have your freedom back.”

The world froze, Dean’s throat restricting as he stared at his heart, tucked away in the metal in Castiel’s hand. He found himself holding tight to the amulet out of habit. “What do you mean?” Dean asked softly.

“One final trade. We give our hearts back. You go your way, I…” Castiel looked down, “I go mine.”

“Do you want that?” Dean asked, hating himself for feeling his eyes start to burn. He was not about to cry, not now. If Castiel wanted to be free of him, the fae deserved it. Dean had hurt him.

“I want you to be happy.”

Happy? All this time, even now, Castiel wanted Dean to be happy? He didn’t deserve the fae at all. Dean’s voice wobbled as he spoke. “But what do _you_ want?”

“I already told you, Briar.” To Dean’s surprise, Castiel’s voice seemed oddly wobbly too. He looked at Dean, then looked anywhere else. “I want your happiness. And I know you want–”

Dean shook his head, closing Castiel’s hand around the key. Apparently Sam was right, they were both stubborn idiots. “If you don’t want my heart, I get it. I do. I’ve made so many stupid mistakes, but Cas... _you’re_ what makes me happy. I’ve stayed away because I, uh, I guess I thought I deserved it. I thought you deserved better. And I was an _idiot,_ I get it, but I, I...what I’m saying–”

He paused and it hit him: Dean knew how to convince Castiel he wanted to stay. He pressed his lips to Castiel’s and to Dean’s joy, the fae kissed back. Dean continued kissing, shifting to trail kisses along Castiel’s jaw, then up to Castiel’s ear. He was so close to spilling his secret, though the words were long overdue. Dean’s breath caught in his throat, Castiel’s heart hummed happily against Dean’s chest, and Dean whispered his true name in Castiel’s ear.

When the fae finally pulled away from Dean, his eyes sparkled, his smile brighter than the rising sun. Castiel brushed his fingers along Dean’s jaw, kissing him once more. Their hearts sang in harmony as Castiel finally spoke, his voice the sweetest sound Dean had ever heard.

“Hello, Dean.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who's made it this far. A million thanks to my regulars, I have loved all the comments!

**Author's Note:**

> As always, comments and kudos are the lifeblood of a fic! Feel free to share the love if you're enjoying it.


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